
Class 
Book.. 



CopgM . 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSffi 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 




I Appeared before the President Considerably Unnerved 



THROUGH THE 
SCHOOL 

TEE EXPERIENCES OF A MILL ROY 
IN SECURING AN EDUCATION 



BY 

AL PRIDDY ^j^J 

Author of: Through the Mill: The Life of a Mill Boy 




THE PILGRIM PRESS 

BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO 



*f& 



COPYRIGHT, 1912 
BY LUTHER H. CARY 



Published, September, 1912 



THE. PLIMPTON* PRESS 

[w • D • o] 
NORWOOD >MASS>U<S'A 



SFZ\ ni 



c\ I -. t^i 



TO 

W. H. S. 

In the same terms and pictures I would employ were 

I in the cheer of his parson' 's study giving 

my experiences by word of mouth. 



Preface 



T 



HESE forty chapters of absolutely real 
autobiography are intended to give the 
reader faith in American education and to 
reconstruct the human struggles and tests of 
character which attend the progress of the poor 
but ambitious lads through a formal education 
for life. 



Contents 



Chapter I Page 

Fifteen Dollars and Sixty-five Cents Worth of International Travel. 
An Inspiring Reception in Front of Chief Pungo Memorial 
Hall 3 

Chapter II 

I Help a Real Poet to Sing his Hymn. My First Chance and How I 



Succeeded with it 



Chapter III 

Thropper's Puff Tie. Sounds That Passed in the Night. The 

Possible Advantages of Speaking Tubes. The Scroll of Divine 

History. The Meditations of a Saint. How Thropper Lost his 

Pious Reputation 36 

| 
Chapter IV 

Thundering Gymnastics. How to Keep on the Good Side of the 
Young Women with Scriptural Quotations. The Establishment 
of Friendship. Carrying Water for Beauty. How Music may 
be Something More than Music. The Wonderful, Austere Man 
that Thropper led me to 44 

Chapter V 

Pungo Hall's Occupants: Estes Who Planned to Take a Tent and 
Plant it in the Midst of The World's Sin; of The Little Man 
Who Fled from the Chiding s of a 'D.D.': of Calloused Hands 
and Showing How "Pa" Borden was Beaten by the Grass 
Widower with The Long Hair 58 

Chapter VI 

A Financial Pessimism Taken in Hand by Thropper and Shown 
in it's Real Light. A Turkish Rug that Smoked. A Poet in 
Search of Kerosene. The Wonderful Antics of an Ironing- 
Board. Economy at a Tub and Three Waiting for it After Brock's 
Bath. The Chemical Reduction of a Cauldron of Tomatoes into 
Something Sweet 67 

Chapter VII 

An Academic Ride in Five Carriages at Once. A Business Appeal 
Mixed in with the Order of Creation. How We Got Lost in a 
Discussion. Whether it is Best for a Man to Marry his First 

[ix] 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Love. A Sleuth-Dean. A Queen's Birthday Supper with an 
Athletic Conclusion. Jerry Birch Stands up for Albion. How 
we Tamed him 80 

Chapter VIII 

The Doctrinal Temper of the University, and Thropper's Talk 
about it. Introduces the Select Board of the Pharisees. A 
Prayer-meeting Monopoly Combated by Independants. Jason 
on my Track and How it Came out 89 

Chapter IX 

My Trip into the Magic World of the Past. How Appreciation is 
sometimes Worth More than Money. Jason and his Coterie on 
Scent of Terrible Heresies. How God Takes Care of His Orators. 
How a Big Soul can go through Annoyances 102 

Chapter X 

The Magnitude of a Postage Stamp. Showing how Desperate the 
Thirst for Money made me. Brock's Rosy Nose and its Possi- 
bilities as a Fireplace. How Brock thought he was Fooling 
me and the Other Way About. The Barrow that Became our 
Enemy and how Brock Revenged himself on it 109 

Chapter XI 

How I Competed with Patrick Henry and was made Aware of a 
Waste of the Eighth Letter of the Alphabet. How I Condensed 
all my Studies into an Oration. How the Populace Greeted 
my Rehearsal. Striking the Top Pitch 119 

Chapter XII 

The Personnel of " The Clamorous Eight" and other Social Matters. 
The "Blepoes" and The " Boulomaies" Invite me into Fellow- 
ship with a Protest from Jason. Epics and Lyrics of Love. 
"Pa" Borden Speaks for the Benedicts on a Momentous Matter. 
How the Magic Tree Lured Some Unfaithful Ones from their 
Sworn Duty 126 

Chapter XIII 

How One Dollar and a Half Secured " The Devil in Society.'* The 
Medicine Chest which Became a Tract Depository under the 
Teachings of a New Creed. How I Stuck to Orthodoxy . . . 135 

Chapter XIV 

A Chapter Depicting how Strife Existed Between the Pro-Gymnasiums 
and the Anti-Gymnasiums and Showing how baseball, Debates 
and an Epidemic Determined Matters This Way and That . . 140 



CONTENTS 

Chapter XV Page 

A Ph.D. in a Clay Ditch and the Futility of it. A Can of Beans 
at the Conclusion of a Morbid Meditation. How Thropper and 
I Played David and Jonathan 145 

Chapter XVI 

Visions, Hysteria, Dogma, and Poor Lessons to the Front when 
the Revivalists Arrived. How Natural it Sounded when 
" Bird" Thurlow Asked a Flippant Question 151 

Chapter XVII 

My Presidential Pose and its Central Place in "The Record.** 
A Wistful Glance and Some Practical Plans towards Eastern 
Education. How the Little Sparrow Brought my Class Colors 
as I Gave the Class "Oration.*' Ends in a Fight .... 157 

Chapter XVIII 

Thropper Unfolds Something Better than Canned Foods. A Lesson 
with the Flat Iron. Thropper Proposes that I Chaperone 
Horses * . . 162 

Chapter XIX 

A Chapter Which Has to do with a Series of Exciting Affairs that 
Occurred between the West and the East, and Which are Better 
to Read about than to Endure 171 

Chapter XX 

My Aunt Millie's Interpretation of Education. The Right Sort of 

an Adviser Gets Hold of me 188 

Chapter XXI 

Over the Sea to a New Educational Chance. How I Revenged Myself 
on the Hungry Days. The Cloistered Serenity of the New 
Place 197 

Chapter XXII 

Stoves with Traditions, Domestic Habits, and Greek, "Boys Will 

be Boys** 204 

Chapter XXIII 

A Plot Which had for its End the Raising up of a Discouraged, 

Young Preacher 208 

Chapter XXIV 

Burner, a Searcher After Truth. How a May-Pole Subdued a Tribe 

of Little Savages 219 

m 



CONTENTS 

Chapter XXV Page 

At the Heart of Human Nature. A Confidential Walk with a 
Dollar Bill at the End of it. A Philosophical Observation 
from the Stage-Driver 226 

Chapter XXVI 

The Strange Adventure of Burner into Nothing, and How my Own 
Mind Got into Trouble, and How my Faith was Strengthened 
under the Chapel Window 235 

Chapter XXVII 

The Wonderful Summer on the Pleasure Island 243 

Chapter XXVIII 

How a Parsonage Suggests a Wife. The Convincing Revelations of 

a Phrenologist Who Examined The Students' Bumps . . . 248 

Chapter XXIX 

It Devolves upon me to Entertain a Guest. The Sentimental Con- 
sequences Which Ensued 256 

Chapter XXX 

A Heretic Hunter. The Orthodoxy of the Seminary Admirably 
Defended. I Contract a Fashionable Disease, and also Receive 
a Very Unsettling Letter . 263 

Chapter XXXI 

How Some of the Joys of Friendship Came to me in the Tower 
Room. The Orator in the White Vest. How Soon I Lost my 
Diploma 269 

Chapter XXXII 

How, Though I was Ready for Service, I was Forestalled by a New 

Trouble, and the very Interesting Plan Which Came Out of it . 276 

Chapter XXXIII 

Of \ji Village where Locomotive Whistles Sounded like Lingering 
Music: of the Esthetic Possibilities in a College Catalogue: of 
a Journey over the Hills to the College where we find, besides a 
Wonderful Array of Structures, a Large Room and the Junior 
with his Barnful of Furniture 282 

Chapter XXXIV 

My Wife Packs me off to College. The Senior and I Stop at a 
Rock for a Drink, Meet the Advance Guard of Students, Plunge 
into a Bedlam, and Witness the Labors of the Freshmen. The 

[xii] 



CONTENTS 

Page 
Finger-study of Quarles and my Apology Given to the Retired 
Medical Man who was Specializing in Hens 292 

Chapter XXXV 

Hot-Popovers and a Cold Watch in the Station. The Sleigh-load 

of Talent * 315 

Chapter XXXVI 

A Chapter of Sentiment and Literary Atmosphere, Including the 
Account of Sanderson, the Procrastinator. How Two Prize Checks 
Were Spent. A Parish of Talent 323 

Chapter XXXVII 

Tieresias, the Blind Prophet, and Squeem, the Student in the Back- 
waters of College Life. A Night of Grim Fate 348 

Chapter XXXVIII 

A Chapter in which a Hero Does a Thing to his Credit .... 359 

Chapter XXXIX 

The Lost Parrot. Academic Burlesque. The Nervousness of the 
Final Minute. A Religious Outcropping in a Non-Pious 
Heart 379 

Chapter XL 

In Which the Account Comes to a Conclusion in the Life of a 

Relative. Martin Quotes Spanish, and has the Last Word . 387 



[xiii] 



Illustrations 



I Appeared before the President Consider- 
ably Unnerved Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

Jason, the Poet, Looked in 76 V 

Evangelical University was Treated to its 

First Match Game 142 

Say, How Much Yo' Want fo' dat Watch? . 184 u ' 

So Arm in Arm the Blind Student and I 

Walked 350 ^ 



[xv] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 



THROUGH THE 
SCHOOL 



■ffiffJFi 



Chapter I. Fifteen Dollars and 
Sixty -five Cents W^orth of % Inter- 
national "Travel An Inspiring 
Reception in Front of Chief Pungo 
Memorial Hall 

IT was like taking off an old, worn, unadorn- 
ing suit of clothes as the Boston Express 
whirled me away from the City of Mills. 
It hummed with me over the streets on 
which I had walked to and from work as 
a mill boy. It darted me past the rows of tene- 
ments where sordid and sinful memories lin- 
gered. "Thank God! Thank God!" Out and 
away from it all. Away from the hum, the bee- 
like, monotonous hum of the mill machines that 
overpower the nerves and dull the spirit of the 

[3] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

workers! Away from the bells and blaring fog 
whistles that disturb the sleep of tired, weary, 
discouraged toilers; the bells and whistles that 
sometimes mean the jubilant clamor of the 
mills over their moaning, rebellious workers. 
Past the pale faces that waited at the crossings 
for the train to pass; faces whose eyes gleamed 
with an instant's wish that the train had them 
in it, too! Yes, I was the chosen from among 
over twenty thousand workers that day. I was 
actually on my way to seek an education! 
There, for proof that it was no dream, was my 
long green ticket with its dozen coupons in my 
hands! There was my brand new suit case! 
How lucky I was ! Think of the fellows who had 
better mental furnishing than I, who had even 
money in the bank, parents who were urging them 
to strive for an education, friends who would 
loan them money, and yet, they were going to 
the mill at that very moment, and would go 
tomorrow, and the day after, because they were 
afraid to make the break! Then I thought: 
'Well, they would have made the break long 
ago if they had lived with an aunt and uncle 
who wasted their money on drink. That would 
frighten them into it. There's some good in 
evil after all. I shouldn't be on this train today 
if my foster parents had been kinder, more 
considerate! I guess it'd be a good thing if a 
few of the other mill fellows, who are am- 
bitious, had something like it to frighten them 

[4] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

off. It's probably the only way they'll go out 
and make their chance!" 

Then the vision of the country-side, painted 
in the glories of Autumn, the flashing views of 
cranberry bogs, crowded with sun-bonneted 
pickers, called my mind to the new joys of exist- 
ence. Here I was, out in the world at last! 
Not the romp of a holiday, with the mill room 
for next morning, not a vacation of two days 
with a return at the end of it; but the begin- 
ning of an education, a start towards a pro- 
fession, a great big chance at last to "make 
something of myself!" 

"Here," I said to the train boy, as he was 
about to pass me, "give me a packet of that 
there gum — the peppermint sort." That train 
boy didn't know, as I paid him the five cents 
by giving him a dollar bill to change, that the 
purchase was the greatest luxury I should have 
on that trip of fifteen hundred miles. 

While working in the mill, I had never been 
able to afford a trip to Boston, so when I arrived 
in the station, and realized that I was even going 
beyond it, on my first excursion, I said to my- 
self, "Boston is only the first, small step in 
your travel!" The next coupon on my long 
ticket paid my fare from the South Station to 
the North — in a Cab with a Uniformed 
Driver!! It was the first time I had been in a 
cab, except at a funeral. I was pleased when 
the driver took me through the main streets; 

[5] ' 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

glad when he had to move cautiously through 
congested traffic, because people could see me, 
as I sat nonchalantly in the cab. I took care 
to see that the blinds were up as far as possible. 

In the North Station, when the cab driver 
had taken me to the train, the car that I was 
to travel on, to Montreal, was marked off from 
its fellows by its salmon color. Awed, im- 
pressed, I went groping through the dim car 
until I found a vacant seat into which I com- 
fortably arranged myself. But as the train 
pulled out, I studied my railroad map, and, on 
discovering that the Green Mountains would 
be on the opposite side of the railroad, I made 
haste to change my seat, so that I might 
insure myself a view of them; for I had never 
seen a mountain in my life. 

That ride of twelve hours, on an express, 
did not tire me one bit. I was before the world 
with a starved, hungry mind and starved, 
hungry eyes. I kept my eyes glued on the out- 
of-doors. Yes, I watched both sides of the car 
at once. I listened for the comments around 
me and if anything of interest was mentioned 
I bobbed up my head to look. I watched the 
time-table for the stations so that I might know 
when the train passed from one State to an- 
other. I was actually passing through whole 
States — five of them in all ! Five States of 
the United States of America! There were few 
details that I did not observe. I watched the 

[6] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

farms, the villages, the back yards of cities; 
watched the flying trees, the colors of soil, the 
crops that were being reaped, the winding roads, 
and the vehicles that waited for us at the 
country crossings. 

At noon we were lumbering through the 
streets of Manchester, N.H., past the long canal 
which flows like a sluggish moat along the dis- 
mal wall of the mill. Crowds of workers were 
waiting for us at the crossings ; watching us with 
looks of envy, I thought. I threw up my win- 
dow, leaned back in my seat, and ostenta- 
tiously chewed gum with a smug, proud look, 
with which I hoped to show the mill*boys how 
unconcerned I was about being a passenger on 
a Montreal Express! 

It was not until we had cleared the big cot- 
ton factory towns and cities of New England 
that I felt entirely like an adventurer, however. 
Only by the time the cities had been left, the 
big cities, and the small towns were succeeded 
by country villages, and the country villages 
by vast wildernesses of woods and uncultivated 
fields, did I feel satisfied. Then I knew that 
if a train wreck should end my journeying, I 
could settle down on some farm. I should not 
have to go back into the mill. 

By watching my time-table carefully, I knew 
when to look for the mountains; but long before 
we reached the place appointed for the vision, 
my heart was leaping with expectation. We 

[7] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

had reached the hilly country, and every high 
knoll served me for a mountain. But on and 
on and on, past [soaring foothills, went the 
train until what seemed a slate-colored storm- 
cloud, a thin veil of atmosphere, caught my 
attention. Then, as the train turned a bend, 
the foothills dropped away, and there, like a 
majestic dream, higher than anything on earth 
before imagined, were the mountains! 

Following the delight of the mountains, I 
had to think of our approach into another coun- 
try. We were actually going to leave the 
United States and enter Canada! Immedi- 
ately the English blood stirred within me. I 
was actually entering the domains of the Queen. 
Just over the border, the train stopped at a 
little village for water. I spoke to the brake- 
man. "Please, mister," I said, "how long 
will we stop?" "Eight minutes altogether," 
he replied; "eight sure." "Are we really 
in Canada now?" I ventured. "Yep," he said 
with decision, "this is Canada, sure enough." 
"Then I'm going to get off, for a couple of min- 
utes," I said. I didn't explain to him the 
motive I had in getting off. It was to put the 
soles of my shoes on FOREIGN SOIL! Un- 
fortunately there had been a generous rain 
that had mixed with the dirt of the village road, 
so that when I sought to step on Canadian 
earth I was called upon to wallow in Cana- 
dian mud, and that I would not do. "Never 

[8] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

mind," I consoled myself with. "This board 
walk is a Canadian board walk and will do." 
So I ran a hundred yards into the village along 
the board walk and came back to the train sat- 
isfied. I had stepped on Queen Victoria's 
territory, come what might. 

When the darkness shut out the view, even 
then I did not keep my eyes from the windows. 
I did not know what sights I should get a view 
of even in the darkness. But all I saw of towns 
were lights, like stars, followed by masses of inky 
night. Then we stopped at a Canadian city sta- 
tion. I pushed up the window, and heard the 
great French chatter that went on outside. Not 
a word of English could I pick out, neither did 
I want to hear such a word. It would have 
spoiled all. At last I was in a new country, 
among a people who spoke a different language 
from my own! I was a real traveler at last! 

At ten o'clock the lights of Montreal, strings 
of stars, flashed by the windows. Three miles 
away from the station the passengers became 
restless. Some of them stood up and waited 
during all that time. At last the brakeman 
called out with finality, a downward deflection 
of the last syllable, as if that ended his day, 
"Mon-tree-AL!" 

There my ticket told me I should have to 
change. The next stage of my journey would 
take me along the border of Canada as far as 
Detroit; an all-night journey. 

[9] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

During the hour that I had to wait in Mon- 
treal, I went on a thrilling, timid sight-seeing. 
I recollect to have seen a couple of dim-lit 
business streets, silent, ghostly, a couple of 
buildings which must have been structures of 
importance in daylight, and a sign which could 
be read because it was directly in the glare of an 
arc light, "National Bank." Having seen so 
much, and satisfied my provincial soul on so spare 
a meal, I went back to get on my new train. 

I found myself in a most comfortable car. 
The seat was well padded, the back was high 
enough to serve for a pillow, and there was no 
one in the seat in front. So I turned over that 
seat, took off my coat and hat, unlaced my 
shoes and put them on one side, leaned back 
with a sigh of content, ready for a night's rest 
when — the conductor came down the aisle, 
looked at my ticket, and said, "This is a first 
class car and you have a second class ticket. 
The next car ahead, sir!" 

I slung my coat over my arm, picked up my 
shoes and suit case and went into the car ahead. 
It was a Tourist Sleeping car and was filled, 
largely, with a medley of Europeans. Euro- 
peans, too, with peasant manners, with peasant 
dirt and peasant breath. There was odor of 
garlic mixed with odor of stale rye bread, as 
some ate lunches. There was odor of unwashed 
clothes mixed with odor of sour milk. Double 
seats, leather padded, had been pushed together 

[10] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

into berths, while overhead shelves had been 
let down for upper berths, with thin pads of 
mattress for the colonists to find rest upon. 
The aisles were littered with paper, fruit rem- 
nants, broken cigarette stubs, empty bottles, 
and expectoration. The air was vapid, like a 
drunkard's breath. I waded through it all to 
the lower end of the car where there seemed 
to be an oasis of cleanliness and order. Here, 
though, were men sprawled out in unpoetic 
postures of sleep. At the lowest end, even the 
train boy had left his basket of fruit and soda 
on one side, while he lay for the night, crumpled 
up, snorting like a pig. 

I looked around and up for a place to sleep. 
There on one of the high shelves, I saw a young 
fellow sitting up, eating a sandwich. He saw 
me looking in his direction. "Hello, fellow," 
he greeted cheerily, "you're English, aren't 
you, fellow?" I replied that I was and that 
I was wanting a place to sleep for the night. 
He said, "These places are for two. Get a 
leg up and bunk with me." He reached down 
his hand, braced me as I stood on the edge of a 
lower berth, and then I found myself in the bed 
with my benefactor. 

He sat there in his shirt, ready for bed, with 
a large basket of sandwiches in front of him. 
There were more sandwiches together in that 
one basket than I have ever seen piled up on 
the counter of any lunch room. 

[in 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"You aren't a train boy, are you?" I asked. 
"Oh, no," said the young fellow, "that's my 
lunch. I got a week's go on the trains yet, so 
I brought enough to eat for that time. I'm 
going to college away out West. Have one," 
he broke in and pointed to the basket. I had 
no scruples in assisting at the reduction of 
such a mountain of sandwiches, for I imagined 
that a company of soldiers could have subsisted 
on them for three days. I ate my fill, and the 
young fellow watched me with evident delight. 
"I'm going out to college, too," I explained. 
"We're birds of a feather, eh?" "What col- 
lege?" he asked. "Evangelical University," I 
replied. "It's easy to get through there be- 
cause expenses are moderate. I don't think 
I'll have a chance to get in right away," I 
explained. "You see, I haven't written them 
that I'm coming or asked for a chance even. I 
can get out there and get some kind of work, 
and when everything's arranged, get into the 
University. A friend told me about it." 

"Why didn't you go back with some one?" 
asked my friend. "Well, you see," I answered, 
"I couldn't afford to go the way the others go. 
It costs twenty-four dollars and this route 
only costs me fifteen dollars and sixty-five 
cents." "Oh," said the young fellow. "When 
you do enter the University what class will 
you join?" "I'll have to join the beginners 
with common school branches," I said. "Then 

[W] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

I'll work up into the Academic course to pre- 
pare for college, then go through college, you 
see." "Oh, yes," he said, "I see." He then 
asked me to help myself to another sandwich. 
"You've got nerve, anyway," he commented. 
"It'll be a long pull, won't it, to do what you 
plan? How old are you?" "Oh, around 
twenty," I answered. "I wish, for your sake," 
said the young man, " that you were through 
with it; this education business takes a lot 
out of a fellow. It's a fight right from the 
start if you don't have any money. I'm a 
sophomore in college. By the way, you haven't 
told me your name, fellow. Mine's Harlan 
M. N. I. Droughtwell. Plenty of initials be- 
cause my folks wanted to please both branches 
of the family. In full, I am Harlan Micknell 
Norman Ingraham Droughtwell." "And I," 
I replied, "am just Al Priddy. No middle 
name. I suppose, though, that really I am 
Albert, but it ain't used much." 

Harlan put the basket aside, after having put 
over the bread a damp towel and closed the 
cover. Then he told me to turn in near him. 
So we both gave ourselves into the keeping of 
the engineer and slept profoundly above the 
odors, the litter, the droning aliens : — two 
youths college bound. 

I was first up, in the morning. Harlan, on 
opening his eyes, proposed that I "dive in" 
and he pointed to the sandwiches. First of 

[13] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

all I wanted to wash my face. I did so at the 
drinking tank. I looked around. There was 
a stirring among the aliens; just a stirring. 
Some were turning over, yawning and giving 
guttural explosions of sleepy comment. 
Mothers were feeding hungry, lively babies; 
but at my end everything was profoundly still. 
The train boy's basket was still where I 
had seen it the night before with the fruit 
exposed to the air. The boy himself was a 
tousled, sleepy, uninspiring bundle of blue and 
white. I looked at my berth-mate, the sand- 
wich man, and noted that he combed his hair 
from the side. Immediately I was conscious 
that I combed mine down the middle, and I 
recollected that my aunt Millie had always said 
that I looked like a masher with it in that way. 
So I took out my pocket comb and changed 
the style of my hair-dressing, while Harlan, 
entirely unconscious of having wielded so power- 
ful an influence over a fellow, sat in his berth 
and struggled with his clothes. 

All through the morning we traveled; over 
high trestles, through deep cuts, skirting tobacco 
fields, whirling through little settlements until 
at last we were rolled to the deck of a massive 
iron ferry and, still in the cars, were taken across 
the lake and landed at Detroit. Meanwhile, 
I had parted company with Harlan, who had 
told me to "keep right at it," meaning thereby, 
a college education. 

[14] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

Transfer after transfer was made for another 
night and a day, each time the trains seemed 
to get slower, to stop more at stations, while 
the cities grew less frequent. Friday turned 
into Saturday, Saturday into Sunday, and by 
Sunday, too, we plunged into an overpowering 
odor of gas. "Is the lamp leaking?" I asked 
the trainman mournfully. "It's terrible. It 
must be leaking. It makes me seasick." The 
man laughed. "Oh, you're in the gas belt," he 
said. "It's in the air. You will get used to it. 
I can't smell it at all, though at first it smells 
like being right in a gas house, doesn't it?" 

The gas tinged everything; food aild drink. 
I felt like going to sleep to lose the sense of it. 
But deeper and deeper into it the train plunged, 
without mercy. "If you've got a piece of sil- 
ver about you," said the trainman, "a watch 
chain or anything of gold or silver, this air will 
turn it black soon enough. But you'll get 
used to it," he added comfortingly enough. 
"I shall have to," I complained, gloomily. 
"It tastes as if all the gas works in the world 
had exploded about here." 

Finally I was nearing Groat's Crossing, the 
seat of Evangelical University. The train de- 
posited me at a station within twelve miles of it, 
where I should have to take an accommodation 
four hours later. There was nothing to see in 
the place where I waited, but glaring brick 
buildings and houses on stilts. So I waited 

[15] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

around the hot, splintered platform, seated now 
on a truck, watching a group of young men 
reading sections of a Sunday paper, or walking 
miserably up and down wishing for the train, for 
the gas had gotten into my system, and I felt 
lonesome, miserable. I might have gone to 
sleep in the waiting room, but the seats were 
spoiled for beds by having iron arm rests at 
intervals of two feet. I tried to thread myself 
through these, at full length, but could not. 
There was nothing to do, but stand around 
and taste gas, until the Groat's Crossing train 
came. 

With great joy I watched the accommoda- 
tion come into the station. Only twelve more 
miles between me and Evangelical University! 
The end of three days' travel. Three days from 
the cotton mills! In that thought I renewed 
my spirit. Soon I should at least be near a 
college ! 

College! For me! It was the anticipation 
of a first watch twenty times intensified. I, go 
to college! Look back in the genealogies of 
the Priddys, rooted back in Britain's centuries, 
and lay your finger on a single member of it 
who ever went beyond the secondary school! 
And there was the brakeman calling, inconse- 
quently, "Groat's Crossing!" 

I half stumbled from that car, thanking God 
that He had allowed me this sweet day. Here 
I was on the platform at last. There was no 

[16] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

one about. A Sabbath quiet lingered over 
everything. The black splinters on the plat- 
form went like knife blades between the soles 
of my worn shoes. 

Groat's was a very small station. Some sort 
of a village lay behind it. I asked a man on 
the street corner if this was where Evangelical 
University could be found. He pointed away 
from the village in the direction of a rutted, 
clay road bordered by a line of houses on stilts 
which ended in a pasture fence made from dry 
stumps interlocked. "The place's up thar!" 
mumbled the man as he moved the morsel of 
tobacco from one cheek to the other. % " You'll 
run smack inter it ef yo' keeps ergoin'." "How 
far about?" I asked. "Uh, 'bout a mile or 
mo ', I guess." 

The fumes of gas half choked me. They 
drowned out the perfumes from decaying leaves 
which lay thick on the streets. It was a land 
given over to gas, evidently, for instead of 
cows grazing in the flat pastures, latticed der- 
ricks towered over oil and gas wells. In place 
of the twitter of Fall songsters reaching me from 
the trees along the roadside, came the mourn- 
ful creaking of oil pumps and the gasps and barks 
from the sputtering engines. A well had just 
been shot. A crowd of spectators stood at the 
base of a derrick whose latticework glistened 
with the black baptism of oil, and the dead 
grass on which the spectators stood was soaked 

[17] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

by a tarry iridescence; the thick, black, greasy 
mess which had spouted up from the torn heart 
of the underworld. 

I walked along a board walk which gave me 
a level path over little brooks, open culverts, 
house drains, and masses of surface gas mains. 
It took me up a slight grade in a lonesome 
part of the road where were neither houses nor 
trees. I stood on the crest of the hill looking 
ahead for the University. It stood on the open 
plain ahead of me, in full sight, Evangelical 
University ! 

I had never seen a college before. I had 
feasted my imagination on photographs of the 
world's leading universities : Cambridge, Oxford, 
Edinburgh, and Harvard. I had revelled in 
the Tom Brown type of literature which has for 
its background armorial gateways, ivy-clothed 
turrets in which sparrows twitter all the day; 
which showed myriads of mullioned windows 
peeping shyly through the branches of sedate, 
century oaks; which showed grassy-carpeted 
lawns, yew gardens, swans breasting placid, 
rose-fringed lakes, lakes girded by pebbled paths 
whereon walked pale, lanky scholars in board 
caps and mourning gowns, walking with bulky 
tomes of Latin on their palms in serene medi- 
tation ! 

And there the reality of a college, Evangel- 
ical University, spread itself for my contem- 
plation, a heart-choked contemplation, because 

[18] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

that view shattered a lifetime's romance! It 
brought to mind a group of tenements surround- 
ing a big square, brick grammar school. The 
buildings stood open to the glare of the sun, 
for there were no tall trees for shade. The 
smaller houses, little cheaply constructed cot- 
tages, stood on cedar posts and were so fragile 
that the first tempest might readily twist them 
from their anchorages and carry them tumbling 
down the fields like empty hat-boxes. 

After the armorial-gatewayed universities of 
my dreams had completely melted away, and 
the reality in its Puritan, pioneer severity chal- 
lenged me, I took a firm hold on my s*late-col- 
ored baggage and strode rapidly on towards my 
goal. 

"What do you want for ninety dollars a 
year?" I argued with myself. "It's your 
chance, and that's enough." 

I soon came to a newly plowed road which 
led to the first of the university buildings. The 
hot sun had not been thirsty enough to suck 
all the rain which had fallen on the new road in 
the last storm. The clayey earth had mixed 
with it and formed a broth which waited for 
the first unwary foot to slip from the springy 
board walk, which led over it. 

Directly ahead, I saw a salmon-colored, clap- 
boarded building squat and frail like an evan- 
gelist's tabernacle, over which I read on a sign 
the following explanatory inscription: 

[19] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Chief Pungo Hall, 1889. 
Born in Africa. Died Here 1885." 

With but a mere glance at this Memorial 
Dormitory, I had need next to press my teeth 
over my under lip, stiffen my gait, bulge out my 
chest, and perform all the other affectations of 
courage, for in front of Pungo Hall stood a 
group of well-dressed young men, all looking at 
me! The heart of the horseman who dashed 
in the charge of the Six Hundred was a stouter 
one in feeling than mine when I charged on those 
lolling young men. My knee-caps vibrated 
like a cello string. My ringer nerves leaped one 
over the other. My heart pumped double quan- 
tity of blood to my cheeks. The board walk 
dropped from under my shoes and I walked on 
a tipping cloud. 

One of the students, in response to my wait- 
ing and my embarrassment, which must have 
been as clear to him as an electric advertise- 
ment over a skyscraper, advanced and asked if 
he could be of any service to me, saying that his 
name was Thropper, James Thropper. 

Now, during the long, three days' journey, I 
had spent much thought in preparation of the 
introduction of myself to the University upon 
arrival. I had succeeded in framing an intro- 
duction which had both the qualities of com- 
pleteness and brevity. I had rehearsed it, 
mentally, in many hypothetical contingencies, 

[20] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

so that I might let them see that I knew, defi- 
nitely, what I had come for. But among all the 
contingencies I had invented not one of them 
had resembled the one in which I found my- 
self: making my business known to a student. 
I had thought of meeting with a gowned don 
or a "bursar" — whatever he was — because 
I was saturated with Tom Brown. But I 
managed to explode my introduction to the 
student, with all its brevity, in all its boyish 
completeness. 

"My name is Al Priddy. I have come from 
the mills. I have not been to school beyond 
common fractions. I am nineteen years old. 
I am willing to learn. I heard of this place 
from a friend. He said there was a chance. 
I have only three dollars. I am willing to 
work. If you think I can't be taken in, right 
off, I shall be happy to live near here, so that 
when I have earned more money I can begin!" 

James Thropper picked up my slate-colored 
suit case and led me before the group of stu- 
dents, without comment. Then, after he had 
introduced me to them all, as "Brother Priddy," 
he signalled to a tall, moustached German. 
"Come here, Brock." The German came to 
one side, and Thropper repeated, though not 
so completely nor with equal brevity, the tale 
I had unfolded. 

"You've come to just the right place, Brother 
Priddy," said Brock. "We have plenty of 

[21] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

students here who arrive without much money 
or much education. It's a splendid place for 
getting a start, isn't it, Brother Thropper?" 

Thropper said, "It's been a blessing to many 
a struggler." 

"But is there room?" I asked. "I could 
wait. It will be nice to live so near a college 
and join it — later," I tremblingly ventured. 
"I didn't come with the expectation of begin- 
ning studies right off, I thought I might go to 
work in the glass factory a while and then 
when I'd— " 

"That would be a waste of time," said Brock. 
"I think you'll be able to start right away." 

"Excuse me — are — are you a professor — 
sir?" I enquired. 

"No," laughed Brock, "just a theologue, 
that's all. I started late, you see." Then he 
explained: "You'll not be able to do any busi- 
ness here on Sunday. The President will see 
you the first thing in the morning; but you 
needn't fear. There's no turning of you off 
when you've come so far. Just remember that, 
Brother Priddy. Meanwhile, I think I might 
be able to place you at a job that will pay your 
board." 

With a wild leap of the heart, I gasped, 
thrilled, 

"Oh, if you only could!" 

"I'm head waiter in the dining room," he 
explained, "we have a place not filled yet. 

[22] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

I'll see you later about it. Better take him 
in with you," he announced, turning to Throp- 
per. "Yours is a double room. That's where 
the President would put him, anyhow." 

"My, the gas does smell!" I announced, 
merely to say something as Thropper led me 
into the dimness of Pungo Hall. "Doesn't it 
spoil the food, when it soaks in it?" 

Thropper laughed. 

"You won't mind it, after a while. You'll 
get so that you won't notice it. Here's the 
room, '9'. Come in, Priddy!" 

I heard the scraping of a key against the 
lock, a frosty light overhead showed me where 
the transom was swung at an angle. Finally 
there came a click as the key snapped back the 
bolt, Thropper threw back the door and ushered 
me in my college room, a double room within 
a narrow compass of a few feet something. I 
swept a pair of greedy eyes over this, the first 
substantial step in my educational ambition. 



[23] 



Chapter II. I Help a Real 
Poet to Sing his Hymn. My 
First Chance and How I Succeeded 
with it 

THE double bed had two depressions 
plainly visible on the mattress 
where two previous occupants had 
maintained their respective sleeping 
rights. The double quilt, patterned 
after a gaudy Chinese puzzle, sank into the 
depressions of its own, warm weight. 

"The best thing about that quilt," explained 
Thropper, "is that when my eyes get weary 
with study or tired from writing, I look at the 
combinations of colors, and my eyes are rested. 
It's great for that. By the way, I'll call you 
Al if you'll call me Jim," he suggested. 

That bed occupied the major portion of the 
floor. Its edge left just a narrow alley between 
it and two kitchen tables that were covered 
with black oilcloth. One of the tables — far- 
thest from the window, in the dim light, — was 
bare of books, and Jim said that it would be 

[24] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

mine. The other had about a dozen text books 
on it, some scraps of paper, and an open Bible, 
marked with purple and red ink where Jim 
told me he was busy emphasizing all the texts 
that he might preach sermons from — some 
day. 

The chair allotted me was a plain kitchen 
affair, as hard as a tombstone; but Jim's was 
fearfully and wonderfully stuffed. There it 
stood like a parody on a fluffy Morris, library 
chair. It was a kitchen chair grotesquely 
stuffed and upholstered within a faded, torn, 
and highly colored bed comforter. VS£hen Jim 
noted that I took an interest in it, he said, 

"Padding made quite a difference in that 
chair, Al. It's real comfortable, though there 
isn't much seat left; it's so thickly padded. I 
was out in the fields one day, and near the fence 
I picked up a sheep's skin of thick wool. I 
thought then that I could make good use of it, 
so I brought it back, left it on the clothes-line 
at the back of the building to let the air sweeten 
it, for it was pretty strong; then I came to the 
conclusion that I could use it to stuff the chair 
— real wool, you know. The comforter was 
left in the back room by a fellow and I used 
that, too. It's a real comfortable chair; almost 
makes you fall asleep when you sit in it." 

"You didn't manage to sweeten all of the 
wool, did you, Jim?" I asked dubiously as I 
noted the dank odor that came from the chair; 

[25] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

an odor that was reminiscent of a junk shop 
after a rain. 

"Why," replied Jim, in good humor, "I 
don't notice it a bit. I think it must be your 
imagination." 

"Well," I concluded, ungraciously, "prob- 
ably it's like the gas. You've got used to 

it. 

Between the gas stove and the wash stand 
stood a galvanized water pail, three-quarters 
filled and with a fuzzy growth on its oily sur- 
face. 

"That ain't drinking water, is it?" I asked in 
alarm. 

"No," laughed Jim. "That's in case of fire. 
I ought to have changed that water two weeks 
ago, but I guess I'm getting lazy." 

By this time I had my coat off and had ac- 
cepted Jim's invitation to wash the train dust 
off my face. 

For this purpose I scraped around in the 
soap dish until I had secured two thin wafers 
of soap, one a transparent reminder of per- 
fumed toilet soap, the other a dull yellow, 
and odorous with naphtha, which I recognized 
as the remnant of a powerful disinfecting and 
wash-day soap; used by my Aunt to drive 
black oil from overalls. I had to rub these 
two antagonistic wafers together to make suf- 
ficient lather for washing. Then, too, I had to 
hurry my toilet, for the flowered wash bowl 

[26] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

had a yellow crack on its under side, through 
which the water dripped rapidly while I washed. 

Jim said, 

"Until you get some, Al, you must use my 
towel." He took it down from the wire behind 
the stove and let me have it, with the remark: 

"There's a dry corner, there near the fringe." 

The window was open, and while I was busy 
brushing the dust from my clothes, a gust of 
wind came in and I heard a rip on the wall 
followed by an exclamation from Jim, 

"There it goes again! The wall will be going 
next!" 

On examination I found that the wall paper, 
with its highly conventionalized lotus leaves, 
had lost its grip on the wall behind the gas 
stove and had uncovered a great area of plas- 
tered wall. Jim produced some tacks, and using 
a flat iron for a hammer managed to return the 
paper to its place and to keep it anchored there 
through a liberal use of tacks. 

He apologized, when he came down to the 
floor, 

"All this is miserable enough, Al, and I don't 
blame you for thinking so." 

"Uh," I retorted, "I ain't grumbling. Beg- 
gars can't be choosers. Besides, I don't see 
what more the college can do for ninety dollars 
a year, board, room, and teaching." 

"'Tuition' you ought to say," corrected 
Jim. "I'm glad you've gat the right spirit 

[27] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

about this place, Al. You're right, we can't 
expect any more for ninety dollars! I don't 
see how they can do for us what they can. It's 
worth a mighty lot for you and me to get a 
chance, and if education should cost more, 
where would you and I be? ' 

"That's just what I think!" I replied with 
spirit. "It is just the chance we want. Here 
I am, with only three dollars to begin on and a 
poor foundation for study in the bargain. What 
other place is there where I could be given a 
start on such easy terms?" 

"A lot of fellows come here," commented 
Jim, "who don't look at the matter in that 
way — and they soon leave and don't have 
any chance at all. I know you'll appreciate 
the hard scrabble to get the education. Be- 
sides, poor buildings, poverty-stricken rooms, 
cheap board, and limited privileges ought to 
make us get the most out of our studies. That's 
something." 

"But suppose they don't let me begin?" I 
gasped; for up to this time I had not let a doubt 
of my acceptance at Evangelical University 
mar the afternoon. 

"I don't think they'll let a fellow like you 
go begging, Al," responded Jim. 'You might 
as well count yourself one of us, right off." 

Just then, out in the upper end of the cor- 
ridor, went up a high, lisping, effeminate voice, 
calling, 

[28] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Oh, Brother Thropper; Brother Thropper!" 
Jim went to the door and replied, 
"All right, Jason!" Then he turned to me 
and whispered, 

"Hard wick is one of the smartest fellows in 
the University. He's a poet, too. He's got a 
hymn set to music in this book," and he waved 
a much worn, manila paper covered Gospel 
hymn book. "It's very popular; sung in many 
of the big revivals!" 

With a throb of excitement I waited for the 
advent of this real poet. I had seen men who 
had called themselves poets in the mill; but 
their productions were local in theme, personal 
in lines, unpoetic in metre and never reached a 
further fame than insertion in the "Original 
Line" column of the papers. But I was now 
to view a real poet; one whose words were sung 
in churches. I was thoroughly subdued when 
I heard the poet's fingers searching for the 
knob, outside. 

He was all that the comic papers and the 
actors suggest for poets. There was not a bit 
of the world about his aspect. In reaching 
for the dwelling places of the muses he had 
lengthened out until his head, covered with a 
thick cluster of curls, roamed through the 
higher levels of the atmosphere. He had to 
incline his head in order to get through the 
doorway. His face had a poetic paleness and 
his lips were puffed out as if he were on the verge 

[29] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

of inspired speech. He wore a clerical vest 
and all his clothes were of a very spiritual black. 
He carried a mandolin. 

I was formally introduced and on my part, in 
acknowledging the introduction, I agreed that 
I was "right glad to know" Mr. Hardwick. 

The poet had come to rehearse some hymns 
with Jim. The latter produced his guitar; 
both musicians sat on the edge of the bed be- 
fore a nickel-plated music stand, the Gospel 
hymn book was put in place, and to the strum- 
ming of the instruments, the vocalists sang some 
revival hymns with such effect as to produce 
from me the comment, "My, that sounds fine!" 

Then, growing bold through intimacy, I said, 

"I wonder, Mr. Hardwick, if you will sing 
that song you wrote, please?" 

The poet said that he would be pleased to 
sing it as a trio, and asked me, when he had 
found the place, if I could join in with the bass. 
I thought I could. 

So the three of us, I between the two musi- 
cians, sat on the edge of the bed and sang the 
lilting reiterations of the hymn, 

"There's a welcome home, 
There's a welcome home, 
There's a welcome home, 
For you and me." 

We were interrupted by the ringing of a bell, 
on the University tower, which, I learned, was 
the call to the Sunday afternoon preaching 

[30] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

service. As my roommate was trying to urge 
me to attend, and while I was protesting that 
my clothes were not good enough, the head 
waiter came into the room and said, 

"Priddy, I'm going to give you a try as a 
waiter at supper. Don't go to the preaching 
service. I will try to rig you up with an apron 
and jacket." 

Oh, what inspiration those words had in 
them! It meant that the University was al- 
ready willing to give me a chance to show what 
I could do. I should not have to get work in 
the glass factory. I should not have* to wait 
before I could enroll myself in the University. 
My chance had come. I cried for joy; tears 
of which I was not ashamed, even though Brock, 
the head waiter, saw them. 

"I'm only poor, and a big blunderer, with- 
out any manners," I protested, "but if you 
give me a chance, I'll do my utmost." 

At five o'clock Brock came into the room car- 
rying on his arm a well-starched waiter's jacket 
and a patched white apron. 

"I had these on the side," he announced. 
"They are worth forty cents. You may pay 
for them when you are able. Don't be worry- 
ing about the matter. Be over at the dining 
room at quarter past five." 

After that I moved as if in the midst of a 
grand dream. Was I actually in a dormitory, 
at a college? Was it true that in a quarter of 

[31] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

an hour I should be trying to wait on a group 
of real students? 

The dining hall was a squat wooden bunga- 
low with a great many windows in it. The 
front hall floor bent under my weight as I 
crossed it. I unlatched one of the double doors 
and viewed the roomful of tables with the dull 
reflector lamps hanging above them. White 
jacketed students were busy with plates and 
plated silver cutlery. Brock, himself in glori- 
ous white, came down the room with a word of 
greeting. I was introduced to the student- 
waiters, was told that I was on trial only, and 
that I should be carefully watched, as there 
were many trained waiters among the students 
who coveted the position. Brock indicated 
two tables near the door, the farthest away from 
the kitchen of all the tables. 

"You will wait on them," he said. "There 
will be ten to a table. When they come in, 
before the blessing, they will stand behind their 
chairs. You must go around, find out what 
they want to drink; hot water, tea or cold water, 
then you must go to the other end of the room, 
get one of the trays and fill it with twenty cups. 
Then you must get them served just as soon 
as you can. You will find plenty of chores to 
do when they are seated." 

With a wild, thumping heart, and with a 
maximum of terror, I heard the first of the 
students enter the outer hall. Brock stood at 

[32] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

the opposite end of the room, near the slides 
that connected with the kitchen, his finger on 
a Sunday school bell. The students, well- 
dressed young men and women, swept past me, 
crowded me, stared at me, stood at my tables; 
went to the different parts of the room chatter- 
ing, bantering, laughing, and accosting one an- 
other familiarly with such abandon and effect 
that I felt like an intruder. No one spoke to 
me. The young men and women at my two 
tables commented about something in a low 
murmur. They cast doubting looks toward me. 
For a minute I was in a panic, then, % because 
I was tall, I could see Brock's eyes telling me 
to do something. I went through the crowded 
aisles, around my tables, saying to each per- 
son, in a trembling, very English way, 

"Will you 'ave 'ot, cold water, or tea, please?" 
I received eighteen orders for hot water and 
tea and two orders for cold water. I came out 
from the ordeal of having addressed so many 
students and went perspiring to the upper end 
of the room where the urns and trays were. 
I put the weighty cups and the thick glasses 
on a tray the size of an ordinary five o'clock tea 
table, filled them by twisting the tray under 
the spigots of the urns, and with the weighty 
load raised as high as my long arms could exalt 
it, pushed my way nervously down the aisle, 
past the students whose backs were turned to 
me, and conscious that all the inquisitive and 

[33] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

critical eyes in the world were watching me to 
see how I should manage. I was very fortunate 
in being able to squirm my way to the lower end 
of the room and to reach the vicinity of my own 
tables without accident. It helped me, too, 
to hear the students singing a hymn. It took 
their minds off me, the green mill boy trying 
to wait on college tables! Thus encouraged, 
I tried a bold thing, which I saw the other wait- 
ers doing. As there were no stand tables to 
rest our trays upon, while steadying mine 
against my body as it lay on the palm of my 
hand, I took off a cup of hot water from the 
lowered tray, and tried to reach the cup around 
the waist of the young woman who had called 
for hot water. The balance would have been 
maintained had not the person next to me sud- 
denly drawn back, jolted the tray from my 
hand, and sent the hot liquids streaming down 
the skirts and shoes of those in the vicinity. 
There followed, too, the crash and thump as 
the heavy cups clattered to the floor. The 
two glasses splintered into bits, and while the 
students were sitting down, I found myself 
growing more and more conspicuous until the 
seated throng looked up from every part of the 
room, to see me furiously red, with tears gather- 
ing, and with untold chagrin over the mishap. 

I waited, among the ruin, for Brock to come 
to me, get me by the scruff of the neck, hurl 
me outside to say, 

[34] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

" Get back to the mill. What right have you 
to pretend to know how to act among cultured 
people? You're too green!" 

I imagined, too, that the students at my table 
must be delegating one of their number to go 
to the head waiter to say, 

"We don't want that clumsy person bothering 
with us. He's spoiled a couple of fine dresses 
and made a regular bothersome mess. Throw 
him out! Send him back to where he came 
from!" 

But I had mistaken the temper of Evangel- 
ical University. Brock came down, a^id with 
great kindness patted me on the back and said, 
encouragingly, 

"Don't let a thing like that bother you, 
Priddy. I know how they crowd. Cheer up, 
old fellow." 

Then the student who had jolted the tray 
bent back and said, 

"It was all my fault, Brock. He wasn't to 
blame a bit. It was downright careless of me. 
I'm sorry." 

Then, after he had assisted me in bringing 
the hot water and other drinkables to the tables, 
Brock took pains to introduce me to the twenty 
young men and women, saying, 

"Mr. Priddy, I hope, will see that you do 
not go hungry as much as you might!" 

I walked on air after that; for the head waiter 
had called me, "Mr. Priddy!" 

[35]' 



Chapter III. Thropper's Puff 
"Tie. Sounds That Passed in the 
Night. The Possible Advantages 
of Speaking Tubes. "The Scroll of 
Divine History. The Medita- 
tions of a Saint. How Thropper 
Lost his Pious Reputation 

SHORTLY after my return from the 
dining hall, Thropper thundered into 
the room, in his impetuous way, jerked 
his arms out of his coat, tore at his 
collar and lifted up the lid of his tin cov- 
ered trunk with every evidence of excitement. 

"What's the matter — Jim?" I asked, from 
my seat near the window. 

"Got a date on, that's what," he answered,* 
half smothered in his trunk. "Miss Ebberd's 
going — church — with me. Lucky — duck, 
that's what! Going down the board walk to 
— New Light revival! Say," he interrupted, 
holding up for my inspection a black, puff tie, 

[36] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

with an opal stone nesting in the midst of its 
folds, "How would this go with a choker col- 
lar, Priddy?" 

"Put it on first, Thropper," I suggested. 

He fastened it around his high choker collar: 
a collar whose pointed fronts might have been 
successfully used by Spanish Inquisitors to make 
heretics look up continually unless they wished 
to have holes punctured under their chins. 

"The reason I wear this tie," said Thropper, 
confidentially, "is because it blocks up my shirt 
bosom; hides it and saves washing, of course. 
You've got to get on to all those sor^ of tricks 
when you work your way through school, 
you'll find, Priddy. Now, how do I look, eh?" 

I thought him a very attractive Lothario 
indeed, although I did not venture so far with 
an expression of opinion. I merely said, 

"You look slick!" 

As he was leaving the room, Thropper sud- 
denly turned and in a very apologetic tone 
said, 

"I had planned, Priddy, to stay with you 
tonight, but you see how it is, don't you, old 
fellow?" 

"Why, certainly," I agreed. "I wouldn't 
like to have you miss this chance for anything, 
Thropper. Go ahead and good luck!" 

"Thanks," he said. "You can lock the door 
when you go to bed if I'm not back. You must 
be tired!" 

[37] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Yes, I am tired, Thropper. I'll sit by the 
window — and think. Good luck to you!" 

He was gone. As his feet echoed in the bare 
hall, I heard him humming, like a happy lover, 

"There'll be no dark valley!" 

The evening shadows were gathering outside, 
as I sat near the window, looking out. From 
the village centre came the drawn out stroke 
of a church bell. Then the campus was alive 
with sounds. The whole University seemed astir. 
Some one raised up a window in the second 
story, over my head, and a quiet, vibrant voice 
called, "Hey, Brother Merritt?" The man in 
the next room stopped his strumming on a 
guitar, lifted up his window and replied, 
"What?" "Going to the service tonight, 
Brother Merritt?" To which my neighbor 
answered, "No, I'm afraid I can't. I'm tired." 
A door in the next house burst open and a trio 
of young women gathered on the porch. 
"That's only the first bell," said one. "We 
shan't have to hurry." "I'm glad of that," 
replied another, "for the board walk is just 
simply terrible in places: full of holes that we 
might trip in if we had to run." Then their 
pattering footfalls could be heard growing dim- 
mer and dimmer in the distance on the board 
walk. Little groups of young men hummed 
hymns as they, too, passed Pungo Hall on their 
way to the revival. Others laughed and argued. 

[38] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

I heard the fragment of one discussion in which 
three earnest-toned young men were indul- 
ging: "Saint Paul did make a failure in that 
Mar's Hill speech!" said one, loudly. "It all 
depends on what you mean by 'failure," re- 
plied his antagonist; "true, the Greeks might not 
have been strongly enthusiastic at the time, 
but it seems to me that God would use that 
speech for — No!" The argument was swal- 
lowed up in the twilight and the distance. A 
group of young women swept by the gloom 
which hung like a mystic veil between me and 
them. I heard only one sentence of % their con- 
versation, " Fried potatoes — ugh ! " They were 
succeeded by a procession of late starters who 
slipped by shrouded in the gloom, a happy, 
familiar, shadowy procession ignorant of the 
lonesome lad who sat back of a window and 
envied them their evening's excursion. The 
last of the footsteps died down on the board 
walk, as if the last of my generation had left 
me to occupy the world alone. But the stars 
came out for friendliness, ruling over the silences 
of the campus and rendering it more silent. 
The tolls of the church bell announced the begin- 
ning of the service. When the double stroke 
had been given for a last warning, the silence 
was about me once more. Suddenly the 
troubled cry of a sheep from the back pasture 
broke out on the night, a plaintive bleat as if 
a dog or some prowling beast of prey had been 

[39] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

scented. Then, through an open window in 
the next house, I heard the voice of a girl as it 
read something, followed by a deeper voice 
which said, "Oh, yum, I've been dozing, Grace!" 
That was followed by a hand which drew apart 
the curtains, and soon two girls' heads were 
outlined against the golden glow in the room, 
and one remarked, "Oh, what a stupid night!" 
I hurriedly dodged my head into the room, 
drew down the window shade and lighted the 
flaring, hissing blaze of gas. 

The whole room was cheapened when the 
powerful gas light shone on it. The crowded 
space, filled with the tawdry effects of my room- 
mate and myself: the rack of dusty photographs 
of people I had never seen, the stuffed chair, 
the bed quilt, the water bucket; all those things 
oppressed me. I turned off the light and threw 
myself on the bed determined not to undress till 
Thropper's return. I felt the need of Thropper. 
It seemed to me that he would cheer me, hearten 
me, be a companion. I began to speculate about 
Thropper in a dreamy sort of way. Over- 
head, some one began to walk back and forth, 
back and forth, monotonously, humming a 
tune unknown to me. I listened for the mel- 
ody hoping to discover that it would be some- 
thing with which I was familiar, so that I could 
hum it too. But it was suddenly interrupted 
by a terrific yawn. Then the man upstairs 
said, "Oh, Oh-h-h!" and I heard the clatter as 

[40] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

a pair of shoes fell on the floor. The man was 
going to bed. I began to wonder who it was 
that had been walking and singing and going 
to bed over my head. I also speculated on the 
social value of a speaking tube which should con- 
nect our rooms. Then a long, long silence, 
broken at last by a clatter in the hallway and 
at last Thropper's cheery voice, 

"Well, you couldn't wait to undress, eh, 
Priddy?" 

"Oh," I mumbled, "got back?" 

"Yes," he laughed. "Isn't it time?" 

"What time is it?" 

"Nearly ten." 

"I must have been asleep, Thropper. The 
sounds sent me off." 

"You were homesick, I'll bet," he laughed. 
"That's a fine description of it." 

"It wouldn't be surprising, would it?" I 
asked. 

"Not a bit," he said, "but you just wait 
till you get to know the folks about here, and 
you'll get over that." 

"Did you have a good service, Thropper?" 

"Oh, fair," he replied. "Fair. Miss Eb- 
berds didn't particularly like the sermon." 

"But she enjoyed the walk to and from it," 
I laughed. 

"Well," he said earnestly, "I know I did." 

While he was preparing himself for bed, he 
said, 

[41] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"When I went out I forgot to tell you about 
the Scroll. You might have had a good time 
with it. Have you ever seen one?" 

"Scroll?" 

"Yes." 

"What is it?" 

Thropper plunged into the heart of his trunk 
again, and this time extracted a black, leather 
case. He opened the front, turned a knob 
and unfolded a scriptural panorama of chromo 
pictures, depicting the thrilling events which 
took place in Eden, first of all, and then con- 
tinuing through the murder of Abel to the 
Flood. 

"I was agent for this last summer," said 
Thropper. "Look through it, Priddy, it's quite 
interesting." 

The Scroll had unfolded to Sinai accompan- 
ied by a running comment by Thropper, which, 
itself, was a panorama of the exciting adven- 
tures of a Scroll agent, when he heaved a sigh 
and said, 

"Oh, urn!" 

I looked up in time to see him throw himself 
on his knees at the bed-side, to bend his head 
in a cup made by his hands, for his evening 
prayer. 

The Scroll brought before me the Tabernacle, 
the Temple, the victory of David over the 
Giant in the midst of a profound silence. 
Thropper was still engaged in his devotions as 

[42] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

devoutly, as deeply, as any Augustinian monk. 
The panorama of the Divine Plan unfolded the 
adventures which befell the prophets and came 
at last to the Birth of Christ, when I looked 
around again to find Thropper still kneeling at 
the bed-side. To me it was a display of the 
prayer-spirit unusual and I was just investing 
my roommate with all the pious dignity of a 
Saint, when a loud, long-drawn snore came from 
him. He had fallen asleep ! I shook him. He 
drawled, as he crept into bed, 

"I'm glad you wakened me, Priddy. I fall 
asleep quite often. One night I nearly got 
frozen to death. I didn't have a roommate. 
Thanks. Turn off the light, won't you." 

After the Crucifixion I closed the Scroll and 
snuggled into bed with Thropper. My first 
day in Evangelical University had ended. 



[43] 



Chapter IV. Thundering Gym- 
nastics. How to Keep on the 
Good Side of the Young Women 
with Scriptural Quotations. The 
Establishment of Friendship. 
Carrying Water for Beauty. 
How Music may be Something 
More than Music. "The Won- 
derful, Austere Man that Thropper 
Led me to 

1 LINKED myself to the following day's life 
by clutching the gaudy comforter in both 
my hands while I sat up in bed, startled 
by a thundering that shook Pungo Hall. 
"What's — that?" I gasped, turning 
towards Thropper, expecting to discover that 
the vibrations had brought him up in alarm. 

"It's only 'Budd' doing his gymnastics," 
he muttered, drowsily, "what time?" 

[44] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Six." 

"Better get up and go over to the dining room 
at half past," he explained. "Say," he added, 
lifting up his head, " you wouldn't mind letting 
me know at twenty minutes past, would you, 
Priddy?" 

* ' Not at all, Thropper. " He dropped half under 
the clothes and in a surprising manner was soon 
invested in all the dignity of thorough repose. 

From that moment until the clamor of the 
rising bell, at half past six, the heart of Pungo 
Hall was turned into a huge alarm clock, for 
first in this corner, then in that, on this floor 
and then on that, intermittent clatterings of 
clocks brought intermittent yawns and mutter- 
ings as the different students were signalled 
by their unsleeping timepieces. Every noise 
seemed to pierce from room to room as if it 
went through telegraphic sounding boards. 
Splashings, jumpings, muttered prayers, read- 
ings aloud, animated conversations: these 
increased as half past six drew near. The 
Monday morning, with its new week of study, 
demanding a fresh enthusiasm after the Sab- 
bath's interruption, was not being approached 
in any business manner. Over the banister, 
leading to the top floor, a voice exclaimed, so 
that all could hear, "Say, Headstone, how fine 
you looked last night with Her!" To which an 
answer came from a suddenly opened door, 
"Thank you!" Then over that banister, into 

[45] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

the laundry basket, in a dark corner of the hall, 
the bed wash was hurled accompanied by dull 
thuds. 

"Got your quotation?" asked Thropper, as 
he dressed. 

"Quotation?" 

"Yes, Bible verse for the tables. You'll 
probably be asked to give one. You see, it's 
a sort of custom for Bible verses to go the rounds 
of the tables, in the morning. You don't have 
to have one, but it fits in nicely, if you have 
one. Especially if you're a waiter." 

"Oh, of course I'll take one," I said. 

"Only just remember and not do what one 
waiter did, Priddy: take that verse and quote 
it: 'Let your women keep silence in the 
churches.' It would get you in wrong — with 
the young ladies." 

"Why?" 

"Well, so many of them are going to be evan- 
gelists and ministers and missionaries: ever so 
many of them. You see how they would be 
liable to take it." 

"We had better keep on the good side of — 
the ladies," I laughed. 

Thropper winked. 

"Betcher life," he replied. 

Just then the head waiter peeped in at the 
door to say, 

"Brother Priddy, are you coming across to 
the dining room? I'm going over." 

[46] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

Eager to face my responsibilities of the day 
in the leadership of somebody I accompanied 
the tall German across the road and into the 
dining room. 

"Black for breakfast and supper. White 
for dinner," announced Brock. "I mean the 
kind of coats that are to be worn," he explained. 

While I arranged my two tables for twenty 
people with plates, knives and forks, milk in 
granite-ware pitchers, sliced bread, corn bread 
left over from the previous night's meal, tomato 
butter, and dishes of crisp, browned, fried 
potatoes, the other waiters came in and greeted 
me with hearty, 

" Morning's ! " " Howdy's ! " and " Hello, 
Priddy's!" which had the effect of making me 
feel in strong fellowship with them, although 
our acquaintance was but a day and a night 
old, at the utmost. Brock smiled at all these 
evidences of friendship, and whispered, as he 
showed me how to arrange the breakfast 
things, 

"Things are going well, eh?" 

"Yes," I muttered, "if I can manage not to 
drop another tray!" 

Then the breakfast bell brought the hurried, 
chattering, hungry crowd of young men and 
women into the room again, though, at this 
meal, they were less formidable in their every- 
day clothes. Some brought books, others writ- 
ing pads. Fountain pens and pencils projected 

[47] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

from the outer pockets of the men, and were 
stabbed in the hair of the women. 

My tables were soon lined with students. 
They, too, seemed to have met me, long ago, 
in the remote past and to some of them I must 
have been at least a third cousin or present at 
a family party, so freely and lavishly did the 
greetings come: greetings that put me at my 
ease because I felt that they came from sincere 
hearts. 

The floor was ready to bend under the weight 
of the crowd that stood waiting behind the 
chairs for Brock's signal to sit. Like a stern, 
powerful, determining Ruler, the head waiter 
stood at the opposite end of the room, with his 
eye on his watch, not willing to press his thumb 
on the Sunday School bell until the instant seven 
o'clock arrived. Eyes looked longingly on the 
hot, fried potatoes. It was no use. Seven 
o'clock was a minute off. Some rumbled the 
legs of the chairs. To no purpose. The Ger- 
man had patience. Finally the snap of the 
bell sent every man and woman to the table 
accompanied by the roar of scraping chairs, 
thumping feet, and expressions of satisfaction. 

Near the head of my first table sat a very 
young, pink-cheeked Southern girl possessed 
of charming, gracious ways. Her "Mr. Priddy, 
please, a spoon," was as musical as ever a re- 
quest could be. It made me feel sorry that 
the spoon was not gold instead of German metal. 

[48] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

Consequently, when she asked me for a third 
glass of water during the first five minutes of 
breakfast, it was no small happiness for me to 
secure it, as speedily as possible, for her. But 
on my return with the third glass her neighbor 
asked for one. On my return with that, the 
Southern girl had her glass emptied. So it 
went for ten minutes: each one of them drink- 
ing amounts of water sufficient for ducks or 
geese to swim in — it seemed to me. Finally, 
on picking up a fork someone had let fall on 
the floor, I saw several glasses, full to the brim 
with water, under the Southern girl's chair. 
She had been initiating me. With a broad wink 
at the others, I very slyly sprinkled some 
pepper on the glass of water before her when her 
head was turned and then waited for results. 
They soon came. She reached for her glass, 
took a sip, and then commenced to choke. 

"What is the matter, miss?" I asked, "will 
you have some more water?" 

She looked at me in resentful astonishment, 
at first, and then seeing that the others at the 
table were laughing, she joined in with them, 
saying, 

"Who peppered the water?" 

"Was there pepper in the water?" asked one 
across the table. 

There the matter ended, although, when in a 
spirit of boastfulness I recounted the experience 
at the waiter's table, Brock chided me by saying, 

[49] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"You will have to be careful. We must have 
discipline, brother Priddy!" 

Thropper was waiting for me, after break- 
fast, when the call to chapel sounded: the first 
exercise of the day. We joined the proces- 
sion of students which moved swiftly towards 
the central building. Into it the procession 
hurried, racing against the tolling of the bell. 
Then followed a tiresome climb up three pairs 
of stairs to the topmost room of all, used for a 
chapel. An attic room, square and dimly 
lighted by dormer windows. The roof girders 
overhead clung together like knitted arms bent 
on holding together such a load of humanity 
as trusted to them. Against the wall, oppo- 
site the door, spread a broad platform with a 
semicircle of male and female faculty arrayed 
on it. Before it, and awed into respectful 
silence by it, spread a fan of students, sitting in 
chairs, by groups. I sat at the heart of Evan- 
gelical University. This chapel, in its plain- 
ness, its bareness, its poverty, formed the pivot 
on which the life of the University swung; for 
here the religious faith and doctrine which were 
the most eagerly sought gifts of the place were 
received. Here, in these simple chairs, was 
where men and women found God: the highest 
advertisement of the University. 

The doors closed out late-comers. A hymn 
was sung. This has been said, and echoed many 
a time: that a hymn was sung. But this first 

[50] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

hymn I heard, proceeding from over a hundred 
hearts, should not be plainly, unemphatically 
said to have been merely sung. If each word 
be trebly underscored and trebly emphasized, 
then, one may say, a hymn was sung that morn- 
ing, for to me, the first bar of melody seemed to 
be the onrush of an Angelic symphony through 
a suddenly opened door of Heaven! Were they 
common men and women who were singing with 
such resonant exultation! The boarded ceil- 
ing and the huge square attic room throbbed 
with it. Rapture, adoration, victory, joy un- 
speakable weighted down each note % as the 
melody unfolded itself. The reliant basses, 
anchored to the background of the melody — 
a resonant, manly anchorage — made sudden 
excursions into the higher realms of the theme, 
but not to displace the tenors whose shrill 
praises were the nearest to what a hammer 
stroke on a bar of silver would produce. The 
dulcet altos, as rich depths of throat as any 
one might expect, entwined themselves in and 
out of the sopranos' soaring, singing as if to 
keep those higher voices from too suddenly 
darting past the doors of Heaven and surpris- 
ing God. That was no mere singing of a hymn. 
It was a hymn for the love of the hymn; singing 
for the pure love of singing. Or, better, a spir- 
itual exercise that could certainly be no more 
willingly or much better done in a morning 
rehearsal of the Court melodists! 

[51] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Wonderful!" I gasped to Thropper, whose 
tenor had added much to the dignity of that 
part. 

"They do sing well, don't they?" he com- 
mented. 

A demure little woman in black, with a very 
set, white face, came to the reading desk and 
read a scripture lesson. Then the sober Dean, 
whose eyes knew every thought in that room 
and said so, gave some notices. There followed 
a prayer whose outstanding character was 
earnestness of expression, of theme, of length. 
Then the whole service was embroidered by 
three verses of another hymn, after which we 
fell in orderly lines and marched through the 
open doors, where an electric gong broke up 
the line into unorganized groups, scattering for 
the classrooms. 

"Now for the President's office," announced 
Thropper, abruptly. 

But a sudden pang of fear whipped across 
my thoughts. 

"Oh, suppose I can't enter, Thropper!" I 
exclaimed. "It has tasted so good, thus far!" 

He patted me on the back, in his manly way, 
did Thropper, and heartened me by saying, 

"Well, Priddy, if you like the first taste, I 
guess you'll stay for the whole meal — if you 
are hungry!" 

"Thanks, old fellow," I said. "Take me to 
the President!" 

[52] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

He led me downstairs into a very busy office 
where some young women were typewriting, 
inscribing books, and where one dudish young 
man with up-combed, wavy hair, was flirting 
with a pretty, tan-cheeked girl who was sup- 
posed to be engrossed in the task of trimming 
a window shelf of geraniums. 

Thropper was told that the President was 
engaged and that we should have to wait our 
turn. So we sat in high-backed chairs, in line 
with three others, where I waited with a pal- 
pitating heart that began to spell panic if 
my turn were delayed much longer^ To in- 
crease this threatened panic of courage, Thropper 
began to whisper terrible things about the Pres- 
ident: how he was a wonderful reader of books 
and had a mentality and memory so well dis- 
ciplined that he was able to read an entire 
page at a mere glance and be able to pass an 
exacting examination on its contents a day 
afterwards! Thropper also whispered in an 
awe-struck voice, 

"The President just feeds on learning! He 
can speak in ten different languages, read in 
fifteen, about, and think in twelve: so they say. 
You mustn't fool with him or tell him any funny 
stories ! He'd never get over it, Priddy. Now, 
come on, it's your turn. I'll introduce you and 
leave you with him!" 

My sensitive imagination enkindled by all 
that Thropper had fed me on, in the waiting 

[53] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

room, I appeared before the President consider- 
ably unnerved. He sat behind his desk, wait- 
ing for me: the embodiment of every austere 
report I had heard. His mouth twitched; 
twitched all the time. His eyes shone as 
brightly as those of an aroused lion from the 
dark mask of a cave. It was a race between 
his mouth and his eyes: the mouth slipped in 
and out, lip over lip, lip under and over lip, 
while those two small eyes snapped back and 
forth with electric suddenness. His gaunt fea- 
tures had the pallor of death. A world of woe, 
of hunger, of intellectual dissipation could be 
read in him. He tried to compose his features 
into a smile of welcome when he saw me, but it 
seemed so unusual a thing for those ascetic 
signs to be disturbed by the intrusion of anything 
pleasurable, that the first attempt ended in a 
sad failure. He did not try again. His voice 
was tired when he spoke. It had neither 
vibration nor health in it. I stood before that 
presence chilled, uninspired, while a strong 
temptation to flight pulled on my courage. 

"Sir," began Thropper, fingering his cap, 
"I've brought Mr. Priddy in. He came yester- 
day, and I've been letting him share my room 
till he saw you." 

"'Had seen,' you should say, sir," corrected 
the President, "if you are after the proper 
tense of the verb. You may go." 

Thropper sighed deeply as he left, probably 

[541 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

over the grammatical correction just imposed 
on him. 

A seat was indicated and I was asked to place 
myself in it. Then the President said, 

"Just tell your story in your own way till 
I interrupt you, young man." 

Thereupon I went into such minute details 
about myself, that I soon brought from the 
official a grunt of impatience. 

"No," he said, "I'm not a bit eager to know 
how many times your family has moved about 
the country. I want to know the salient things 
about you yourself." 

"I've been working in the mill till last week," 
I said. "I always have been eager to get an 
education. I haven't been able to save any 
money. I heard about this place. I came on. 
If you can't take me, then please let me live 
here; just live here, it will do me good even if 
I don't take any studies. I can work out and 
earn my board, I promise you. I have been 
earning my own living for a long time now, 
sir." 

"How much money have you brought?" he 
asked. 

"Three dollars," I said. "But you don't 
need to take me in yet, sir," I explained, hur- 
riedly, for I felt that he would surely turn me 
off. 

"A young woman came here, last year, with 
just four cents in her pocket and only her own 

[55] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

strength to rely upon, young man," replied 
the President. "Her own strength and God to 
rely upon, I should say, sir." 

"Yes?" 

"There are several here who, at middle age, 
have arrived with wives and families and hardly 
more than enough to keep them a week, save 
their own strength and God's." 

"Yes?" 

"There is one student here who, at forty-five, 
has given up his position in business to begin in 
the lowest grade of study, with arithmetic, that 
he may receive an education." 

"Yes, sir." 

"So that you, with your youth, your three 
dollars, your opportunity, ought really to get 
along fairly well here." 

"If you take me, sir?" 

"Do you think we would turn you off, young 

99 

man: 

"You mean that you'll give me a chance, 
then?" I cried, in great exultation at his quiet 
words. 

At last a faint smile did untangle itself from 
his austere line. 

"You are already earning your board in the 
dining hall, I understand." 

"Yes, sir." 

"That leaves merely the small item of tui- 
tion and room rent. I think that you will be 
able to find enough work about the campus 

[56] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

and in the village to arrange for the payment of 
that. If not, you should be able to earn enough 
next summer to do it." 

"Just the thing, sir," I cried. "I'll do it! 
Here is the first payment." I handed him the 
three dollars. 

He waved his hand. 

" Keep them for necessities," he said. "There 
is no hurry. God is back of us, young man, 
and will raise up friends for us. I want you 
to work hard and make of yourself a useful man 
in the world. We have no luxuries here. It is 
plain living and high thinking: the two essen- 
tial equipments of manhood, I believe. If you 
will share our hardships faithfully and work 
hard, we welcome you to us. That is all. Now 
we will see about your list of studies." 

After fifteen minutes' appraisement of my 
intellectual attainments and of my intellectual 
aim, the President made me out a list of sub- 
jects with such diverse studies on it as: Begin- 
ning Grammar, Church history, elementary 
arithmetic, Jevon's Logic, elementary Latin, 
typewriting and zoology! I hurried from the 
office, with the card, to attend my first class, 
the first real step in my higher education, the 
class in Church history! 



[57] 



Chapter V. Pungo HalPs Occu- 
pants: Estes Who Planned to Take 
a "Tent and Plant it in the Midst 
of the World* s Sin; of the Little 
Man Who Fled from the C hidings 
of a c D.jD.\* of Calloused Hands 
and Showing How c Pa* Borden 
was Beaten by the Grass Widower 
with the Long Hair 

EVERY scar that a sin may leave, every 
phase of ambition made possible in 
a democratic world, every type of 
dramatic character: these I found in 
Pungo Dormitory. As to a shelter 
from the world's temptations had come firm- 
lipped, tense-browed men in middle life. As 
to the door which led into serviceable adventures, 
had come stout-hearted, finely-fibred but poor 
youths. Evangelical University meant more 
than a place where one could get a formal edu- 

[58] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

cation. To some it meant a haven from a 
rough sea: a sea so rough, indeed, that but for 
the harbor must have wrecked them inevitably. 
The sea, for instance, on which Estes, in Num- 
ber 18, had found such tempestuous experiences. 
To imagine Estes you have to think of two small, 
very glistening black eyes shining through a 
forest of beard like hut lights gleaming like 
faint stars in the midst of a dense grove. That 
was all you noticed, at first, about him, for his 
body was insignificant, unimportant. The little 
knobs of cheek that came between the eyes and 
the black beard shone with a dull fed glow, 
like flesh that the winds and the frosts had 
hardened and tinted. When on the campus, 
Estes crowned his blackish head with a cow-boy's 
sombrero, worn at a rakish, foppish slant, as if 
he were trying to be reminiscent of a Mexican 
senor. A man to be called merely a poseur when 
met on the campus or in the classroom, with 
his arithmetic, his grammar, his English his- 
tory, and his black teacher's Bible in the crook 
of his arm; a thirty-seven-year-old man with 
his foot on the first rung of the educational lad- 
der. To most of the students he was known 
only in the role of "elementary student.' 5 But 
in the confidence of his chamber, among his 
selected friends, when he opened his record, it 
was akin to the opening of furnace doors to show 
the furious white heat of a man's sinful passion 
and the dark, twisting, sulphurous smoke of 

[59] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

criminal deceit. He had betrayed men and 
women in selfish conspiracies; had drowned his 
wit in seas of alcohol ; had abandoned his mother 
and family to the cruelties of poverty and ill- 
ness; had stolen money and honor from his 
fellows; had mixed in the cheap and petty evil 
sports of sailors and tramps ; had roamed through 
the land in the guise of an Indian doctor sell- 
ing watery and greasy medicaments under a 
hissing, gasolene torch to confiding purchasers; 
had held responsible positions in shops; had — 
there seemed to be no end to his adventures in 
which the coloring always turned out to be the 
fact that in all of them he had introduced ele- 
ments of sin, of criminality, of cruelty. They 
always ended against those grim stone walls! 
After walking through the pages of several 
high-strung romances of vagabondage and 
clap-trap he had turned to Evangelical Uni- 
versity as to the mould for a new character 
which was to form him over, not only into a 
socialized being, but into a serviceable, spiritual 
servant; for after he should have had ingrained 
on him the elementary knowledge of Grammar, 
Bible, and History, he planned to take a tent 
into the world, set it in the midst of the slums 
for a season, and nightly exhort bad men to 
become good with the same fervid impulsive- 
ness with which he had formerly exhorted them, 
under the yellow blaze of gasolene lamps, to 
buy pills and medicine-cure-alls. 

[60] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

In room "20" dwelt a student of an oppo- 
site type who embodied in an eloquent degree 
the strength and adventure to which ambi- 
tion may attain. "Dr." Up well was a little 
north-of-Ireland Scotchman, past his forty- 
third summer: an ordained clergyman in an 
energetic denomination. He was one of those 
unfortunate men — of which there are a sad 
number in the pastorate — who, in a moment of 
illogical frailty had succumbed to the tempta- 
tion which a letter offered, of securing for a 
trivial sum of dollars the dignified, honorary 
degree of "Doctor of Divinity." A\ first the 
privilege of adding two capital "D's" to his 
name, on his letter heads, his visiting cards, his 
church advertisements in the Saturday evening 
paper, and on the gold-lettered sign in front of 
his church, had been highly appraised. Those 
two "D's" had added almost a furlong to his 
mental egoism. He felt himself admitted to 
the highest peak where dwelt the chosen theolog- 
ical giants. But finally, after much thinking 
— for Upwell was at heart an honorable man — 
conscience had asserted itself with a flaming 
manifestation that shrivelled up this mental 
egoism and left inside the poor man's mind a 
mass of smoking, smouldering remorse which 
no amount of "Poohing" could quench. Con- 
science, in that sure way it has, and blunt, kept 
saying: "You are not worthy of the 'D.D.' In 
the first place, you are ill furnished with educa- 

[611 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

tion. You have never been under the disci- 
pline of a school. What you have is merely 
the results of desultory home reading. You 
have never accomplished anything worthy of a 
'D.D.' honor. You are minister to a handful 
of farmers, in an isolated community, in a 
church which pays a salary of five hundred and 
fifty dollars a year — when it does. You have 
never made more than four speeches in Confer- 
ence, and they were in debate — remarks from 
the floor, in which the Chairman found you ' out- 
of-order' twice! You have played no heroic 
part in social reform or made any spiritual 
stir. The degree was purchased because you 
were selfishly ambitious. It was sold to you 
in cold blood by a college that funded itself, 
partly, by such sales. Suppose that Peter, 
when you came to the gates of Heaven, should 
ask you, 'Upwell, give me name, dignities, and 
titles!' what would you reply? 'Chad worth 
Up well, Doctor of Divinity!' with a host of 
angels to laugh at you? Not so. You would 
feel cheap, miserable!" 

Thus stung more and more into remorse, the 
little Scotchman had finally been driven out to 
seek a place where, at least, he could be worthy 
of his ill-gotten honorary degree. He had 
come to Evangelical University to fill the mind 
with theology, ethics, history, and literature, 
so that at the end of a year or two there might 
be some degree of merit and fitness when he 

[62] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

placed "D.D." after his name! Of course, 
Upwell did not put it in that bald way, but from 
the persistency with which he rolled the "D.D." 
under his tongue, while criticizing the posses- 
sion of it, it was not difficult to know that he 
would never bury it. 

In Pungo Hall I came face to face with young 
men to whom the gates of educational privi- 
lege had been closed until they, like myself, 
were on the threshold of young manhood. 
They had come from the hearts of coal mines 
and breakers, bringing their life's dreams with 
them, and an indomitable purpose. Every 
penny they spent for books and board had 
been earned by the sweat of their brow. They 
had come, many of them, from far-away farms 
and from the Southern mountain fastnesses 
where life's expressions of hope and desire were 
to be seen in crude form; where they found that 
it took the "breath of an ideal to blow the 
dust off the actual." Hands I shook, in fellow- 
ship, that were scarred from hard toil, calloused 
through contact with the tools of labor. 

The comprehensiveness of the curriculum of 
Evangelical University was shown in the case 
of the Borden family. I became intimately 
acquainted with the head of the family, Julius 
Borden, while cutting sugar cane on the Uni- 
versity farm. Julius was a pale edition of 
Falstaff: fat, self-sufficient, self-important, with 
a scraggly yellowish moustache half screening 

[63] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

his pouting lips, and with a triple chin constantly 
slipping like a worm back and forth over the 
folds of the points of his collar. Mr. Borden, 
even at forty-two, after the discipline of busi- 
ness, married life, and children, took himself 
too seriously. He spoke with hesitating pre- 
cision, though not with grammatical fluency, 
as if he had predetermined that no word should 
ever come from the depths of his profundity 
that did not aptly fit into the seriousness of 
life. The merest word I flung at him became 
a challenge that could be answered only when 
the hoe had been put down, the moustache 
pulled, the brows contracted in thought, and 
the throat cleared. When I greeted him with 
a trivial, "How do!" he could not trust himself 
to reply with audible words; he wanted me to 
take his acquiescence for granted — I could 
see it by the surprised look in his eyes. As he 
had been a success at the grave-stone business, 
had been married the longest of any of the mar- 
ried students, and possessed the most children, 
he seemed to realize that these were tokens of 
superior power when compared to our bachelor, 
or the other married students' bridal, limita- 
tions. He fairly withered our proffered sug- 
gestions or theories or criticisms, with his 
weighty authoritative, "I've seen so much, 
you see!" It was, in his own estimation, equal 
to a hurricane from the Talmud blowing on the 
chaff of the Apocrypha. By reason of this con- 

[64] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

stantly paraded wisdom, Julius soon became 
current on the campus as "Pa" Borden. 

He had given up his grave-stone business; 
had brought his money, his wife, and two chil- 
dren to the University for a "family fitting" as 
he termed it; much as a farmer goes to the gen- 
eral store with his family to be clothed, shoed, 
and candied. The wife, at her marriage, had 
just graduated from a high school, so that she 
entered the collegiate department of the Uni- 
versity, on her way towards an A.B. to be 
earned outside of the chicken-raising in which 
she indulged. Jack, a quick-witted^ lad of 
twelve, found a place in the elementary classes, 
by the side of Estes, two Porto Ricans, a Japan- 
ese, a missionary's little girl, and several other 
students who had to commence at the bottom 
of the educational scale. Edith, a romantic- 
eyed daughter, who wore Scotch-plaid dresses 
and Sis Hopkins' braids, was plunging through 
the College Preparatory division close on the 
heels of her mother. The father, least of the 
family in school discipline, had to humble him- 
self so low as to take his place with a backward 
grass widower in a "B" section of the grammar 
class because of his tendency to forget, after 
a day, the relations and distinctions between 
verbs and nouns and the various other members 
of the grammar family. But Julius saw to it 
that besides the baneful necessity of his humble 
place in the grammar class he came to a proper 

[65] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

level in those studies in which he could express 
his preference. He revelled in the Bible class, 
the Historical and the Oratorical classes to his 
heart's content, but though he shone creditably 
in them, he never could quite clear himself 
from the "B" section of the grammar class; 
grammar being his thorn in the flesh, as he tes- 
tified in one evening's prayer-meeting, when the 
Apostle Paul and his historic affliction was the 
lesson. Even the backward grass widower, who 
had a thick mass of shining curls and intended 
becoming a temperance "orator" finally gradu- 
ated from the "B" section, thereby heightening 
the shame of poor Julius, who seemed predes- 
tined to do poorly with the science of speech, 
and forever linger in the shadow of the "poor- 
doers." 



[66] 



Chapter VI. Financial Pessimism 
Taken in Hand by Thropper and 
Shown in its Real Light. A Turkish 
Rug that Smoked. A Poet in 
Search of Kerosene. Wonderful 
Antics of an Ironing- Board. Econ- 
omy at a Tub. Three more Wait- 
ing for it After Brock' s Bath. The 
Chemical Reduction of a Cauldron 
of Tomatoes into Something Sweet 

MY capital of three dollars was very 
quickly expended. After I had 
spent the last quarter of a dollar 
for writing paper and pens, my 
pockets were as empty as they 
were the hour I bought my suit from the 
Jewish merchant. I stood penniless in the 
first week of my educational career: a realiza- 

[67] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

tion that brought out every atom of self- 
distrust, philosophical pessimism and gloomy 
foreboding. I had been completely dependent 
upon nickels and half dollars previously. I 
had not moved without they paved the way. 
Nothing of enjoyment and privilege had 
been secured without money. Theatres, games, 
parties, trips; these had always made their 
call on my spending money. Now I stood facing 
an academic career absolutely without a penny 
and with no possible hope that in the outside 
world there would ever be any benefactor to 
forward one. I was stranded. I thought of 
the students who relied upon monthly checks 
from home or from friends. I thought of the 
students who had their own bank accounts 
which would carry them through the school. 
I thought, with a kindling of envy, of the stu- 
dents who the previous summer had earned 
the following year's expenses. I secured a 
minimum of comfort from such reflections. 
They plunged me deeper and deeper into the 
gulping pit that sucks enthusiasm out of life. 

Thropper found me, standing by the window, 
indulging in such a dispiriting review of my 
prospects. In his bustling way he shouted: 

"Well, Priddy, what's the row now, eh?" 

"I shouldn't be — here," I choked. 

"Well," he exclaimed, "I thought you'd get 
'em — soon." 

"What do you mean, Thropper?" 

[68] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Homesick blues, that's all. You've got 
every symptom showing, Priddy. They're on 
you, all right." 

"I'm not homesick, Thropper," I blurted out. 
"I have no reason to be homesick. It's not that 
at all. I'm fretting about money: that's all." 

"The root of all evil," he mocked. 

"Wrong there, Thropper." I half smiled, 
cheered beyond measure by his banter. "I 
heard a preacher say that the Bible said, 'The 
love of money is the root of evil.'" 

"Well," bluffed Thropper, "what's the dif- 
ference? Wherever you find money vou find 
the love of it. They are synonymous. 

"I'm in no danger from either, about this 
time, Thropper. I haven't a cent to my name, 
and as I search the future I don't see a pros- 
pect of any except I give up the University." 

"That needn't worry you, Priddy!" 

I looked at my room-mate in amazement. 
He was not smiling. In fact, he was looking 
very seriously at me. 

"Not worry me?" I gasped. "That's com- 
forting, to be sure!" 

"What have you got to worry about?" he 
asked. 

"What — worry about?" I stammered, not 
falling in with his mood. 

"Yes. Tell me!" 

"In the first place," I explained, "you know 
that I had but three dollars — three — t-h-r-e-e, 

[69] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

three, d-o-l-l-a-r-s, dollars; three dollars — to 
begin my education with." 

"Yes." 

"I don't think I told you that I shall never 
expect any help from the outside; that if I stay 
here I shall have to rely entirely on what I can 
earn with my own hands." 

"I see." 

"Well!" 

"Well?" 

"Well!" 

"Well?" 

"Isn't it clear, Thropper?" 

"Isn't what clear?" 

"The predicament I'm in." 

" Predicament? " 

" Of course ! " I retorted, impatiently. " What 
else is it for a fellow to be stranded as I am? 
You surely wouldn't call it a blessing, would 
you?" 

"I might!" 

"What!" 

Then Thropper, without another word, delib- 
erately turned inside out each pocket that he 
owned and deposited in my hands the following 
items : A well-worn ink and pencil eraser, a foun- 
tain pen, a stub of a Dixon's indelible pencil, 
some blurred pencil notes, a half dozen tooth- 
picks, a crumpled letter, a bunch of keys, a 
bachelor button, two handkerchiefs, and fifteen 
cents in two nickels and five coppers. 

[70] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"There," he sighed. "That's all. There's 
not a penny in my trunk. The money repre- 
sents my worldly fortunes — until I go out and 
earn more. I, too, have to rely upon my own 
efforts. Shake, Priddy!" 

The big-hearted fellow reached for my empty 
hand and gave it a vigorous shaking. 

"You're not bad off!" he declared. "Let 
me tell you why. You see," he went on to ex- 
plain, "after you've got in the swing of things 
here, you become somewhat of a social or eco- 
nomic philosopher. You're rich, Priddy!" He 
smiled benevolently on me. 

'What do you mean?" I demanded. 

"You're English, aren't you?" 

"Of course." 

"That accounts for it, probably." 

"Accounts for what?" 

"Your high and exalted estimate put on 
money necessary to get you through college. 
I understand that across the water it is only 
the rich and the noble who are welcomed to the 
colleges; that the mass of workers have come to 
respect education accordingly. At least, that 
is the idea one gets through the books and mag- 
azine articles which have to do with English 
college life. Whether it is true or not is another 
matter. Anyway, Priddy, you've got to under- 
stand that things are different in America. Our 
colleges are democratic and extremely prac- 
tical. Now take yourself, for instance; you 

[71] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

have come out here regarding it impossible for 
you to move hand or foot towards your educa- 
tion without money in your pocket. Things 
are so arranged that you don't need to give your- 
self much trouble on that account. You say 
you've got no money and that you ought to get 
away from here, on that account. That's the 
way thousands of plow boys and machine ten- 
ders are arguing, only they say, 'We haven't 
any money; therefore we've no chance to get 
to college.'" 

"I know that's so," I interrupted. 

"You see this arm," and Thropper made a 
sledge-hammer of his right arm, bringing his 
clenched fist down on his table. "That repre- 
sents my endowment of good health and 
strength. How much is that worth, in terms of 
dollars earned in a year during spare time, 
Priddy?" 

"Why — I—" 

"Sixty-five dollars during school terms last 
year, outside of vacations: sixty-five dollars 
earned at odd jobs during Saturdays and odd 
hours," he said. "All the spare cash I was 
called upon to spend. Of course in the sum- 
mer, by canvassing stereoscopic views, I cleared 
sixty-seven more, above my expenses. That's 
what the arm stands for. Its strength is con- 
vertible into cash almost any day that I care 
to go out and earn it — keeping on with my 
studies, too, of course." 

[72] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"But I'm earning my board by waiting on 
table," I urged; "that does not touch my tui- 
tion and room rent, Thropper." 

'Which amounts to about thirty dollars out- 
side of board," he laughed. "You aren't worth 
much if you can't earn that in a year and keep 
on with your studies, Priddy. I think you're 
lucky, that's what I think, in earning your 
board so easily. That's the big item!" 

"But what can I find to do? I can't leave 
the campus. I have to be around for the meal 
hours." 

Thropper went over to his desk and secured 
a brown-backed account book, and read off the 
following list: 

"Stacking books in the library, twelve cents 
an hour. Wheeling Professor Dix's invalid 
aunt in wheel chair, twelve cents an hour and 
dinner. Scrubbing floors in University Hall, 
twelve cents an hour. Weeding garden, cutting 
sugar-cane, thawing frozen gas pipes, grading 
lawn, kneading bread, cleaning black-boards, 
ringing bell, watchman, running washing- 
machines, errands, pruning trees, dusting Pro- 
fessor Harvey's insects; all twelve cents an hour, 
Priddy. The list of my chores for last year. 
Possibilities for you, my boy!" 

"Oh, I see!" 

"Feel better, now?" 

I smiled and then said, feelingly, to my room- 
mate: 

[73] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Thropper, you'd be worth ten dollars an 
an hour in a hospital bracing up discouraged 
financiers; that you would!" 

"Oh, I don't know," he answered, pleased 
with what I said. "I've been up against it 
myself, Priddy. I understand, that's all." 

"Have been up against it?" I gasped. 
"Thropper, I guess you should put it in the 
present tense: are up against it. Here is your 
fifteen cents, your present fortune. What are 
you going to do about money?" 

"Oh, me?" He felt under his table and 
brought out to view a tin lunch box made to 
resemble a bundle of school books. "I'll have 
that filled on Saturday morning at six o'clock, 
put on these — " he rumbled behind his clothes- 
screen and threw a pair of dirty overalls on the 
floor and a soft, black shirt — "and go to my 
regular Saturday job in the glass factory. A 
dollar and fifty for the day; regular as the week 
comes around. That's the way I take care of 
myself, Priddy!" 

"But when I work for the University I don't 
get cash, do I, Thropper?" 

" No," he said, " it goes on your bill. But you 
won't find it hard to get along without money 
here," he said, "there isn't much that you can 
buy, outside of clothes and a lecture in the vil- 
lage once in a while. You'll soon become accus- 
tomed to getting along without cash, all right." 

When Saturday morning arrived, it was a 

[74] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

distinct surprise to hear Thropper moving in 
the room first, for he usually had droned while 
I prepared for the day's work. I opened my 
eyes. The alarm clock on the table told me 
that it was half past five. I watched my room- 
mate as he donned his working clothes and put 
on a slouch hat. 

"An Englishman would call you a 'navvy,'" 
I smiled. 

"I should think an American would call me 
a tramp!" he replied. "But you ought to see 
some of the Bulgarians I have to work with!" 
He spread out his hands expressively to indicate 
that whatever the Bulgarians did look like, he 
had not the rhetoric available at that moment 
with which to describe them. 

There came a knock on the door and in 
response to Thropper 's cheery "Come in!" 
there appeared another "tramp" with his lunch 
box; a tall, high-cheek-boned Southerner, named 
Tripp, who drawled, 

"Best be gettin' deown, Thropper!" 

So with a good-bye, Thropper left the room, 
turning to tell me that if I found time, I might 
clean up the room — in his absence. 

"Be sure and shake the Turkish rugs," he 
laughed, pointing to the patches of well-worn 
carpet that were used for rugs. 'When you 
shake them you'll find them very Turkish; 
they smoke!" 

By the time the early lunch for the workers 

[75] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

had ended, there were seven "tramps" who 
went to the glass factory with Thropper. In- 
cluded among them were two students, whom, 
judged by their excellent dress and their social 
graces on the campus, I had thought were none 
other than the sons of wealthy parents. 

When the Bible verses had been given at the 
tables and after the last slice of fried potato 
had been scraped out of the dish, the students 
hurried from the room and disposed themselves 
for work. 

As I left the dining-hall, I saw young women 
with duster caps on their heads, leaning out of 
dormitory windows shaking rugs; others I found 
hurrying down to other dormitories with bundles 
of laundry. When I arrived in Pungo Hall, 
I was greeted with the thumping of brushes, 
the clatter of furniture, and the shouts of the 
men as they called to one another above the 
clouds of dust that were being hurled from 
the rooms into the hallway. 

A knock came on my door as I started to 
sweep the room, and Jason, the poet, poking his 
long neck around the corner of the door-post, 
asked in the most concerned way imaginable, 

"Brother Priddy, is the kerosene can here?" 

"Why — no, I haven't seen it. What do 
you do with kerosene? Don't you burn gas?" 

Jason blushed, and then replied, 

"Oh — we — er — use the kerosene for 
beds!" 

[76] 








Jason, the Poet, Looked in 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Beds?" 

"To subdue those fiery creatures who dom- 
icile in beds!" he affirmed. 

"Oh, bugs!" I blurted with such roughness 
that it must have made his sensitive and poetic 
nerves clang. 

At eight o'clock a group of students, with 
clean collars and well-pressed clothes, came down 
from the University building, each carrying an 
ironing-board, to be sold in some nearby town. 
This ironing-board was entirely unlike every 
other ironing-board invented by man or woman. 
It was the product of the fertile and practical 
mind of our mathematical professor; its chief 
virtues being, as described in the prospectus, 
that "it stands up like a soldier, kneels down 
like a camel, and folds up like a jack-knife!" 
With all its novelty, it was extremely practical 
and, the agents reported, sold well. A large 
number of useful citizens are out in the ser- 
viceable centres of life, who, if they ever choose 
a coat of arms will have to adorn their shield 
with an ironing-board — "rampant," for to it 
they owe much of the financial lubrication which 
smoothed their passage through the school. 

Hurrying after the same train were three 
young women, each armed with a book, on their 
way to make fifty per cent from literary house- 
holders. At different hours of the morning other 
students went to the village where every sort 
of task from house-cleaning to raking up dead 

[77] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

gardens was undertaken. Evangelical Univer- 
sity was at work. 

The head-waiter, Brock, came into the room 
as I was cleaning it and said: 

"Priddy, has anyone been in after the tub?" 

"The tub?" 

"Yes, and the rubbing board!" 

"I didn't know those things were here." 

"Your roommate and I have a whole laundry 
set on shares. Look in my room and you'll 
see the irons; the flat-irons." 

"No, the tub and the board are not here," I 
reported, after a search. 

The tall German went into the hall, raised 
his voice in a great, resounding shout: 

"The wash tub! Who has it?" 

A door at the end of the hallway opened and 
a voice replied: 

"Just rinsing out my shirt, Brock. Have it 
in a jiffy!" 

A few minutes later Brock called to me from 
his room. When I presented myself before 
him, I discovered him with his sleeves rolled 
up, busily engaged in pouring hot water from a 
kettle over some shirts and handkerchiefs. 

"Any white things of yours, handkerchiefs 
or shirts, Priddy," he announced, "might just 
as well go in with mine." 

So we shared the wash that morning. After 
they had been rinsed, I carried them to the rear 
of the building and hung them on a double 

[78] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

wire line where the gas-laden air from the sheep- 
pastures hummed through them and the sun 
burned them dry in an hour. 

That same afternoon, after having expressed 
to Brock my desire for extra work in the hours 
when I was not on duty in the dining-hall, I 
found myself standing over an immense caul- 
dron under which blazed a hot camp-fire. In 
the cauldron were bushels of tomatoes and 
many pounds of sugar. With a long ladle I 
stirred the concoction until nine o'clock that 
night, save for the interruption of supper, and 
by that time I had the satisfaction of ^seeing it 
turn from a vivid pink to a dark red until it 
turned into a tarty, pasty preserve, not unlike 
strawberry damson in appearance. That night 
there went on the University records, against 
my name, "To seven hours' labor, at 12 cents, 
.84." I had paid that much, that week, towards 
my tuition. 



L79] 



Chapter VII. An Academic Ride 
in Five Carriages at Once. A 
Business Appeal Mixed in with 
the Order of Creation. Is it Best 
for a Man to Marry his First 
Love. A Sleuth-Dean. A Queen's 
Birthday Supper with an Athletic 
Conclusion, ferry Birch Stands 
up for Albion. How we "Tamed 
him 

THE terror that at first had been 
imposed upon me by the sense 
of my own ignorance, a terror which 
had led me to think that at twenty 
years of age no ambitious youth 
could at all fit into the educational scheme, 
died down quite rapidly at Evangelical TJni- 

[80] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

versity. The curriculum there was no arbi- 
trary imposition, as it is so commonly in the 
Four-Hundred-Dollar-a-Year University, into 
which a student must fit himself willy-nilly, 
and to which he must either conform or not 
approach. The Evangelical University curric- 
ulum was made to bend to the needs of an 
illiterate man of forty and to the advanced 
demands of the graduate who sought his doc- 
torate in Philosophy. Its principle was that 
of intellectual service to fit the needs of all 
who come whether poorly fitted, old or poor. 
Estes, "Pa" Borden, myself and many others, 
who certainly would not have had the 
chance for inspiration offered us in hundreds 
of dignified schools, especially on such terms, 
were given our life-time's chance in Evangelical 
University. 

But it must have looked chaotic, intellectu- 
ally riotous, to a dignified dean of a classic 
university, and, no doubt, he would have had 
much in criticism of the university to offer, 
from his proper angle, after looking on the 
manner in which the students mixed their 
courses. 

In my first term I spread myself through the 
common school, the business, the college pre- 
paratory, the collegiate, and the theological 
divisions of the University! It was akin to 
taking an academic ride in five carriages at 
once! When the professor dismissed me from 

[81] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

the college class in logic I went immediately 
into the basement, where I joined the grammar 
class, and from the grammar class I went to 
the theological department and recited on 
Church History. From that class I went into 
the scientific department and was heard in 
zoology, and from zoology I found my way in 
the business department where I practised on 
the typewriter. 

Though I came before this intellectual priv- 
ilege with a hungry mind, yet, threaded through- 
out it all were the complaints of the professors 
in regard to the limitations under which they 
worked. The professor of science constantly 
unfolded to us, who met him in zoology, a 
pet dream of his which comprehended a future 
benefactor who should increase the number of 
specimens in the museum. The English pro- 
fessor was embarrassed frequently by the inade- 
quacy of the library. In our Bible classes, the 
President would take us into his confidence, 
the day after a faculty meeting, and descant upon 
the hardship, the embarrassing, financial hard- 
ship, of meeting the expenses of the school. 
There was no lack of dignity to this proceeding, 
for each one of us felt under obligations to the 
University, knowing well enough that what- 
ever financial sacrifices the faculty underwent, 
were sacrifices made in order that we might 
receive an education. So the President was 
within the bounds of propriety and discipline 

[82] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

when he concluded his report with his custom- 
ary: "And so, young ladies and gentlemen, if 
you are acquainted with any business men or 
wealthy person who might be made generous 
by our worthy appeal, kindly hand me their 
names and addresses after class. Mr. Stanton, 
you will please describe the order of creation 
as given in the first book of Moses!" 

But it was not long before I had to realize 
that I had put myself under an exacting dis- 
cipline by coming to Evangelical University. 
We had a dean who in effectiveness and as a 
sleuth would have been the dean of cleans had 
an international society of them existed. The 
presence of young men and women on the 
campus rendered the Dean's duties doubly 
hard. The rules were rules of a Mede. His 
surveillance was that of a man who felt an aus- 
tere obligation to over a hundred anxious 
parents. No one, except by special permission, 
could be out of his room after half-past seven 
in the evening, save on society nights or on Sun- 
days. For the enforcement of this rule, the 
Dean depended upon the reports of student 
monitors, but mainly upon his own vigilance. 
Every dormitory was always in danger of a 
visit from the Dean, and as the students in the 
dormitories were prevailingly men and women 
considerably beyond their 'teens, there was 
no inconsiderable disobedience of this rule; it 
made us feel too much like little children who 

[83] 



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are put to bed while the daylight lingers on the 
earth. I soon had a taste of the common 
experience. One evening three students met 
with Thropper and me to indulge in a heated 
and loud discussion on the question: "That it 
is best for a man to marry his first love!" We 
started it at half-past six and once on the line 
of our pros and cons all sense of time and 
existence went out of mind. We heard not 
the inrush of students as the last bell rang, nor 
heeded the brooding silence that had come over 
the campus. We lived only in our arguments 
on that "love" issue, and Thropper was in the 
midst of a very final story of first love coming 
out happily when tested by marriage, when 
three knocks were heard on our wall, given by 
the student in the next room: That was the sig- 
nal that the Dean was stirring. Instantly the 
window was opened, our three visitors leaped 
out, and a few seconds later, when the Dean 
knocked on the door, Thropper met him inno- 
cently with the proposal, "Have a chair, sir?" 
and the Dean, glancing about merely said, with 
a pleasant smile, "I just thought I'd look in, 
that's all." When he left, we knew that when 
he went to the rooms of our three friends, up- 
stairs, he would find them in their shirtsleeves 
poring over their books. I often saw him in 
the twilight or under the glow of lighted win- 
dows, this Dean performing his duty which, to 
a man of his fine, academic temper, must have 

[84] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

been so incompatible: a tall, ungeared, gaunt- 
faced, tight-lipped man, stooped and stealthy, 
searching the campus with his glinting eyes, 
squaring his jaws as he approached windows 
where law-breakers were gathered, post-haste 
after delinquents! 

I chanced to be one among a half dozen stout 
English hearts; at least they were English hearts 
when somebody proposed that it might be a 
patriotic act for us to celebrate, in a fitting, 
English manner, the birthday of Queen Vic- 
toria. On account of the un-American aspect 
of the proposed celebration it was deejned inju- 
dicious to ask the consent of the Dean, for we 
felt sure he would prohibit it. We were deter- 
mined, however, to conduct a celebration that 
would be quiet, dignified, and memorable, 
without having in it any semblance of disorder. 
We also resolved to hold it on a Saturday even- 
ing, when the rules were not so strictly upheld. 
To this end, then, we persuaded the master of 
the dining-hall, who was also chef and baker, 
to fall into our scheme, though he was a loyal 
American. We engaged him to fry the steaks, 
and also gave him an English recipe for chipped 
potatoes. 

On the night of the celebration we met in a 
student's room in the ell of Pungo Hall, in the 
rear: a quiet, isolated room which also had the 
double virtue of being a wash-room with a 
stove in it! Over this the chef worked, quietly. 

[85] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

We blanketed the windows so that no one could 
peep on the scene. The table was spread and 
the seats occupied. Before us, on a white plat- 
ter and in white dishes, were the steaks and the 
chips, surrounded by coffee, cake, and candy. 
After the meal, the chairman proposed speeches 
which had for their theme the greatness, the 
majesty, and the high repute of the "glorious 
Queen." At the conclusion of these speeches, 
we tried to sing a reminiscent snatch of "Rule 
Britannia," but had, finally, to compromise on 
"God Save the Queen." The college bell had 
struck eleven when one of the party proposed 
that it might waken us up if we went out on 
the campus and exercised ourselves by holding 
a jumping contest. On account of the lavish- 
ness of the feast and the heartiness with which 
we had partaken, we were ready to fall in with 
this proposal. 

In front of a little cottage in which a few stu- 
dents had double rooms, we leaped and jumped 
very quietly for some minutes, speaking in whis- 
pers, for it was nearly midnight, on the verge of 
the Sabbath. But suddenly we were startled by 
a loud voice calling from one of the windows, "I 
have your names!" The heartless monitor had 
spied on us. We were undone. Heartlessly, 
guiltily, we went back to our rooms. The dam- 
age had been done. We had been caught break- 
ing the dread laws of the University. Nothing 
could keep us from the wrath of the Dean. 

[86] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

We indulged in our prayers and our Bible 
study and our church attendance the following 
day with little enthusiasm, for when we chanced 
to meet one another we asked the same ques- 
tion, over and over, "What will he say?" For 
we had our heart in it. We were not flagrant 
despisers of order. We cared for the respect of 
our Dean. 

On Monday morning we assembled in chapel 
for the usual morning service. The Dean led 
the service. We were expecting that during 
the notices he would say, reading from his 
book, "I wish to see Mr. Priddy anol Mr. this 
and Mr. that," and so on through the list of 
Englishmen, "at the conclusion of chapel." 
But not so. In place of the customary sermon 
of ten minutes, he delivered a very Patrick- 
Henryish philippic against certain unnamed 
students who had so far forgotten themselves as 
not only to be unpatriotic towards their adopted 
country, and had not only demeaned themselves 
by an unlawful "revelry" but had even been 
indulging in sports at midnight, on the verge of 
the Sabbath, and thereby rendered themselves 
unfit to give God the highest, most efficient 
service on the holy day. The unexpectedness 
of it, the fierceness of it, the lurid interpreta- 
tions put on our innocent feast, its coloring into 
a " night revel," and the charge of impiety, 
unnerved me. I sat riveted to my chair, in 
a cold sweat. I felt as must a murderer in 

[87] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

his sober moments when he realizes to the full 
the enormity of his deed. The Dean con- 
cluded his philippic, during which he had not 
mentioned a name, by this oracular notice: 

"I want each one of those revelers to meet 
me after chapel, in my office." 

All eyes were sympathetic towards the Eng- 
lishmen as we gathered at the Dean's door. In 
his sanctuary he further explained to us the 
extent of our crime, making it, to the mind of 
Jerry Birch, a stubby, vigorous-minded Briton, 
treason. Jerry flared forth in an attempt to 
prove to the Dean that he (the Dean) was an 
enemy to the Queen, and that an appeal might 
properly be made to the British ambassador, 
and — but here we cautioned Jerry to stop. 
We finally tamed him into quietness, and the 
Dean dismissed us with the warning to show 
ourselves peace-respecting Americans from 
then on. 



[88] 



Chapter VIII. The Doctrinal 
"Temper of the University and 
Thropper* s Talk about it. Intro- 
duces the Select Board of the Phar- 
isees. Prayer- Meeting Monopoly 
Combated by Independents. % fason 
on my Track and How it Came out 

EVANGELICAL UNIVERSITY was 
founded by a minister of intense reli- 
gious convictions and its policy was 
directed by a Board composed of men 
characterized by religious zeal. The 
University stood committed, also, to the Chris- 
tianization as well as to the education of its 
students. In its advertisements, special empha- 
sis was laid on "annual revivals," "personal, 
religious work of students," and other evidences 
of a flourishing religious atmosphere. 

Now in this, Evangelical University stood in 
line with hundreds of efficient institutions, but 
it went a step farther, and not only made its 

[89] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

boast in regard to its Christian background, 
but it also gained repute as the exponent of a 
particular, very sectarian, very dogmatic, and 
intense doctrine; namely, that not until a par- 
ticular emotional experience had been secured 
was a Christian a substantial and serviceable 
Christian. "The triple-birth doctrine," as 
Thropper christened it, "being natural birth, 
spiritual birth, and extra-spiritual birth." 

There were several students in the Univer- 
sity who were there merely for its intellectual 
privileges and who did not believe in this intense 
doctrine of "the triple-birth." 

Thropper said to me, one night, when we 
were discussing this matter: 

"Priddy, I'll guarantee that out of all the stu- 
dents here, you will not find more than five in 
all that do not profess to have a religious experi- 
ence. Now that ought to satisfy the Univer- 
sity, but it won't. That isn't enough. Until 
every one believes heart and soul in its doc- 
trine of the 'triple-birth,' and gets emotional- 
ized, the whole place will be turned upside 
down. Now I have always thought myself a 
religious fellow. I belong to the church. I am 
trying to live a Christian life. I have a Chris- 
tian home in which I have always been trained 
piously and well. But they have given me no 
rest since I came here. They pray for me every 
year and struggle with me, and quibble about me, 
all in order to get me to go through the ' triple- 

[90] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

birth,' which may be all right for them, but does 
not appeal to me. Yet, because I don't go over 
to their way of thinking, they can't regard me 
as a religious man. I'm not the only one, 
either. There are others whom they bother 
in the same way. If we were out and out 
heathen, they couldn't be more alarmed over 
us. If we were unsocial atheists and immoral 
beings, their enthusiasm and concern would be 
worth while, but when some of us are to be 
preachers and respect everything that is true 
and helpful and yet have to be prayed for in 
public and hounded from pillar to post by them, 
why—" 

"Who do you mean by 'they' and 'them,' 
Thropper?" I asked. 

"Oh, certain of the students who are enthu- 
siasts on the 'triple-birth' doctrine," he replied. 
"They mean well enough, and are good folks, 
but I can't agree with their peculiar doctrines and 
I tell them so, right out." 

"But a few students can't carry off the whole 
situation, Thropper." 

"Can't, eh? Well, you see, as this is the 
particular doctrine for which the University 
officially stands, the few aggressive students 
who preach the idea are really in the majority. 
There's a little set of them, led by Jason, the 
Poet, who roam through the life of this Univer- 
sity like a little group of heretic hunters in some 
medieval community, with all power and 

[91] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

authority back of them." He sighed, deeply. 
"They make life miserable for many," he 
said. 

I laughed at him. 

"Why, Thropper, don't take it to heart so; 
just go along your own way, tolerantly, know- 
ing that if some of us can't actually agree, we 
can respect one another's differences — if they're 
not vicious." 

He regarded me as if I had lost my wit. 

"That sounds nice, that does, Priddy, and it 
is good sense, too, but it's wasted here, old boy. 
You and I and some others may find consola- 
tion in it, but Jason and his Board of Phari- 
sees would have their tongues cut out and their 
right hands severed before they would rest easy 
with us differing from them, standing outside 
their particular doctrines. You don't know 
Jason. Besides, wait till you have been here a 
year and then you will see so many things 
take place under the direction of the Univer- 
sity that it will be impossible for you not to 
know that you are 'persona grata here only when 
you swing over to a full acceptance of the doc- 
trine of the 'triple-birth': there'll be the annual 
revival when a whole, intense week will be 
devoted to hardly anything else but a propa- 
ganda of that doctrine. There will come the 
weekly prayer-meetings, the talks from visit- 
ing exponents of the doctrine; oh, they won't 
let you rest easy in your differences, Priddy. 

[92] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

Wait till Jason and his crowd get on your 
track r 

"You talk as if they were going to be the worst 
sort of meddlers, Thropper." 

"Didn't you hear me call them the Board of 
the Pharisees? Did you think I didn't mean 
that for a good description, Priddy? Well, 
what were Pharisees always doing? Meddling. 
Telling the people to be holy by washing the 
dinner plates thus and so; telling the people 
that God was found by wearing this and that. 
Well, that's what Jason and his crowd are 
busy doing about here, through the year. The 
sight of a gold ring on my finger fairly dilated 
the nostrils of one of them; he set about pray- 
ing for me and urging me day after day to stop 
wearing it because it was the symbol of ' carnal 
pride,' and he quoted ever so much Scripture, 
too." 

After that I noted with especial interest the 
monopoly exercised by Jason and a small num- 
ber of the students — male and female — over 
the multitude of religious meetings that em- 
broidered the week of study. The two noon 
prayer-meetings, the after-supper services, the 
Thursday evening university service, the many 
missionary meetings, the Bible study classes, 
the Sunday morning "search" services: in all 
these the tone was given by the fervid and dog- 
matic Jason and his followers. Wherever a 
religious interest of any sort chanced to be 

[93] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

organized, one was certain to find on its list of 
officers some representative of Jason, the Poet. 
Thropper and I, and several others among the 
students, formed "independent" circles for 
prayer and Bible study, where we could, for 
once a week, at least, have our own, special 
beliefs prevail. 

One November morning, as I was leaving the 
dining-hall, Jason met me at the door. 

"I should like to have a word with you, 
Brother Priddy," he announced. 

"Certainly," I replied. 

"I have been considerably burdened for you, 
lately, Brother Priddy." 

"Eh?" 

"You have been the subject of my prayers." 

"How is that?" 

"Because I think, though you may not real- 
ize it, that Satan is trying to lead you astray," 
he answered, solemnly. 

"That's interesting, I'm sure." 

"It's terrible!" he half shuddered. 

"But — er — what especial act of mine, 
Jason, has brought out this — er — burden for 
me?" 

"Carnal pride!" he exclaimed. 

"Pride?" I gasped. "I didn't think I had 
anything or had done anything to be proud over 
— that I know of." 

"I thought you did not see it," he announced; 
"that is the deceitfulness of sin, it blinds us. 

[94] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

That is why I came to you — to warn, you 
understand." 

"Then you will relieve the tension I am suffer- 
ing from at this minute," I retorted, "by tell- 
ing me just what it is to which I am blind, and 
which is sinful. I am sure I stand ready to 
renounce anything that is liable to stand 
between me and God, Jason." 

His severe, but intensely spiritualized fea- 
tures relaxed at that declaration. He nodded 
his head and rubbed his pale hands. 

"I am glad that you are open to the truth, 
Brother Priddy," he crooned, with satisfaction. 
"I have especial reference to that watch-chain 
of yours and to that scarf-pin." 

"What!" 

"That and that," he reiterated, pointing first 
to my watch-chain and then to my scarf-pin. 

"Nonsense," I exclaimed. "What in the 
world are you making this bother over?" 

"That watch-chain and the pin are orna- 
ments and personal adornments, not neces- 
sary to the person. They are expressions of 
pride which lies in the heart to corrupt it. 
Therefore you will never find peace with God 
until you have discarded them." 

"Those things expressions of pride?" I 
gasped, "why, that chain is gold-plated and 
didn't cost more than a dollar and a half, and as 
for the tie-pin!" I laughed. "Well, I paid 
ten cents for it, opals and all, in a Five and Ten 

[95] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

Cent Store, Jason. Not much to grow proud 



over." 



"It is not the price, Brother Priddy, but the 
principle." 

"But I swear to you, Jason, that I don't 
give those things a thought." 

"No, granting that they don't hurt you," 
went on Jason, persistently, "they are liable 
to lead others into pride. It is the weak brother 
you must think of." 

"I don't think there's much danger of others 
finding much to emulate in my jewelry or dress," 
I answered. "I do recognize the force of what 
you have to say about the weak brother, Jason, 
and if, for a minute, I imagined I was doing any- 
thing or wearing anything that would hurt the 
life of another in any appreciable degree, why 
I'd renounce it quickly enough, you can wager!" 

"I never indulge in wagers," protested the 
literalist, "it is ungodly. I still persist in ask- 
ing you to give up that jewelry on the ground 
that in all things we should walk soberly, as 
the Bible enjoins." 

"Well, I'll think it over, Jason," I said, walk- 
ing hurriedly away. 

When Thropper returned from his trigonom- 
etry, I recounted my experience with Jason. 

"Well, your days of quietness are gone now, 
Priddy," he declared. "You've got a Phari- 
see on your trail who will keep it until your 
days are made miserable." 

[96J 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"But why doesn't he cut off his beautiful 
curls and be consistent?" I protested. "Why 
doesn't he throw off that peculiar vest and that 
military coat? He'd be consistent if he did! 
Talk about offending the weak brother! If a 
dude wouldn't be jealous of those finely culti- 
vated curls, I don't know a dude. I'll wager 
Jason is always looking in the glass, at him- 
self!" 

"Oh," smiled my roommate, "you just tell 
him about his coat and his curls and he'll have 
his explanation ready. Those curls are sent 
by the Lord. As for his coat and vest; they 
are simple, without the fancy incidents common 
to our coats ! Don't try to beat him in a quibble, 
Priddy. He's got you before you start. Can 
you quote over half the Bible word for word 
without once looking at it?" 

"No-o!" 

"Jason can! Are you able to read it in 
Hebrew and in Greek?" 

"No-o-o!" 

"Jason is! He's got you when it comes to 
Biblical quotation and can fit a passage even 
to so common an act as eating a dish of creamed 
toast!" 

"But I shan't give in to him — that is, 
unless I really see the force of his arguments, 
Thropper." 

"Oh," smiled Thropper, "he'll give you force- 
ful arguments enough, that's the hang of the 

[97] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

fellow. He knows so much ! I tell you, Priddy, 
when you employ logic, biblical lore, and a fan- 
atical sincerity in trying to persuade an inno- 
cent little greenhorn like you — to give up a 
watch-chain and a tie-pin, why, the greenhorn 
is bound to go under!" 

"We'll see!" I declared, as the conclusion of 
the subject. 

The next day, Jason found me in a corner of 
the library busy with my Latin. Without a 
word he edged over to me, pulled a little black 
book from his pocket, opened it at a marked 
place, fixed it on the chair handle before me, 
indicated the marked passage with one of his 
long, white fingers and left me to myself. I 
put aside my Latin and investigated. 

The book was the writing of John Wesley, 
and the place marked was a passage in a ser- 
mon on "The Wearing of Ornaments" or some 
such theme. In any case, that was the subject 
treated in the marked passage. It was a reit- 
eration of the arguments Jason had advanced, 
but coming from so noted and often quoted an 
authority as the founder of the Methodists, 
it considerably sobered my impressionable 
senses. I had no sooner closed the book, than 
out of the unseen the Poet flitted to my side, 
and with a whispered, "Forceful, isn't it?" Jason 
took up the book and returned to his study. 

A day or two later he brought into the dining- 
hall a little green bound book, printed on cheap 

[98] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

paper and entitled, "The Victory of Selina 
Bostwick — Evangelist." As he handed it to 
me, Jason said, 

" Sister Bostwick is well known to me. I have 
sung for her in tent meetings, near Chicago. 
She is a saint of God. I want you to read the 
place I have marked, if you cannot find time to 
go through the whole book." 

In the privacy of my room, when Thropper 
chanced not to be around — for I did not want 
him to see me reading Jason's book — I read 
the extract. It recounted, in a very rambling 
manner, the "third-birth" of Miss Best wick — 
who, by the way, had been so inconsiderable a 
person as a seamstress who exhorted in revival 
services. The tale went on to show how, as a 
young girl, Selina had been especially addicted 
to wearing gaudy jewelry: stone-tipped hat-pins, 
glass ornamented combs, two rings, one with a 
cluster of imitation rubies, the other a plain 
band, which had been her mother's wedding- 
ring, and various brooches and fancy studs. 
These, it seemed, had entirely prevented Selina 
from entering into the deeper faith in God, and 
for proof argued that so long as she fastened 
her heart on those trinkets she had never once 
been able to preach or exhort in meeting or 
revival. Then the day came when she plucked 
them from her and threw them in her trunk. 
From that day on, she had gone into the world 
preaching and exhorting successfully! 

[99] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

When I returned the book to Jason, he en- 
tered into a long discussion with me, and by the 
subconscious seriousness he had created in my 
heart over the question of ornaments and the 
kingdom, and because I was getting weary of 
the theme, and also because the tie-pin and the 
watch-chain were becoming eyesores to me, I 
finally said, 

"Oh, I'll stop wearing them, I guess!" 

Jason rubbed his white hands and patted me 
on the shoulders. 

"There is joy in heaven over one sinner that 
repenteth," he quoted. 

"I'm not a sin — Oh, don't let us get into 
any more arguments over the matter," I cor- 
rected, eager to be out of the reach of my per- 
secutor. "Here they are; both of them to be 
put in a drawer — or something." 

I pulled out the tie-pin and unfastened the 
watch-chain. Then I was perplexed. 

"But, Jason," I remonstrated, "I have to 
carry this watch, you know. The watch- 
chain was handy. It kept me from losing the 
watch. What am I to do, if I don't have this 
chain? It seems to me that I had best keep 
wearing it. What do you do for your watch?" 

As he pulled out a gold Waltham I felt like 
asking him if it would not be more consistent 
for him to wear a nickel-plated one, but remem- 
bering Thropper's comments, I expected Jason 
would argue that it was more economical to 

[100] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

buy a gold watch on account of its wearing 
qualities and reliability, so I kept the protest 
to myself. Jason's watch was attached to a 
woven black chain, which, he said, he had made 
from a long shoe-lace! 

"I'll make one for you, too," he added gen- 
erously, "if you'll get a long lace." 

The next day I gave him the lace, and after 
dinner, we sat in the reception room, where in 
ten minutes, he wove for my watch a chain as 
artistic as a shoe-string chain may be. After 
he had fastened it in my button-hole and to my 
watch, he said: 

"Well, Brother Priddy, the weak brother will 
not have cause to stumble now, will he?" 



[101] 



Chapter IX. My Trip into the 
Magic TVorld of the Past. How 
Appreciation is sometimes W^orth 
More than Money, yason and 
his Coterie on Scent of Terrible 
Heresies. How God Takes Care 
of His Orators. How a Big Soul 
can go through Annoyances 

THE strangeness of my life had worn off 
by winter. I knew every man and 
woman by name and character, 
and they knew me. The daily rou- 
tine of class work and waiting on 
table more and more took the novelty from my 
existence. I was getting the maximum of 
inspiration from my studies. Leaning back in 
my chair, under the hissing, flaring gas flame, 
with drowsy Thropper opposite me in his sheep- 
skin upholstered chair, I went forth into the 
new worlds where Caesar led his mailed Romans 

[102] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

and his following of slave kings, where the gaudy 
coronations and noisy wars of ancient England 
were enacted; into the world whereon Christ 
scattered the seed of faith out of which grew, 
stone by stone, dipped in martyrs' blood, the 
magnificent cathedral Universal Church. With 
the guidance of the professors, I pierced into 
the living, animal world where tooth and fang 
and claw were in contest and where the divine 
finger was busy sorting moral law out of it. I 
was being daily disciplined in the use of lan- 
guage and in the finer esthetic appreciations of 
it, under the direction of the Englisji teachers 
and the Oratorical Professor. 

There were many, who with me, went in con- 
fidence to our teachers and gave them our thanks 
for their sacrificial services. Of all the service 
that I have seen men and women render, that 
done by the faculty of Evangelical University 
measured up to the finest. They were men and 
women of liberal culture; trained, many of them, 
in our most prominent institutions. Every day 
that they lingered at the University teaching 
us was a sacrifice. They were sadly underpaid. 
There was no endowment from which to guaran- 
tee them their salaries. Some of them worked 
with us, out of sheer enthusiasm, claiming that 
their wages were the gold of our thanks and out- 
spoken appreciations. They were willing to 
economize and live in poorly furnished homes, 
in order to awaken in those of us who had had 

[103] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

little opportunity, the first spark of intellectual 
response. 

One of our teachers took me aside, in the pir- 
vacy of his empty classroom, for the purpose of 
assisting me with a back lesson. I had occa- 
sion to remark, 

"Professor, you aren't giving yourself a fair 
chance, here, are you? Some of the students 
have been saying that you have had more than 
one opportunity to better yourself." 

The kindly eyes of the man glistened with 
tears, for he was very readily responsive to his 
feelings, and he said, 

"Albert, I cannot better myself. There is 
no higher privilege in this world than to invest 
what God has seen fit to give us in the way of 
privilege or attainment in other lives that thirst 
for what we have! There are men in colleges, 
whom I know, surrounded by their books in 
pleasant college communities, fitted to a delight- 
ful social and intellectual life, teaching in class- 
rooms filled with students who do not have to 
fight for a living as do the students here, yet 
they are not happy men; not one-tenth so happy 
as I am teaching you boys and girls! No, sir! 
All that those positions that have been offered 
me could have done would have been to ease 
me from financial worries, and relieve me from 
a few hours of instruction; but there is nothing 
in this wide world, Albert, can equal the work 
I am privileged to do with such as you, to 

[104] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

inspire you for useful service. It is missionary 
work; but missionary work pays the highest 
wages. I have the first chance at men in the 
making!" 

It was not alone the poverty of the university 
equipment and the inadequate compensa- 
tion they received which intensified the noble- 
ness of our teachers' characters, but also their 
endurance of some of the petty, trivial annoy- 
ances they suffered from the dogmatic Jason 
and his few followers. For even into the class- 
rooms religious, doctrinal quibbles were carried 
by those stern and unyielding students. The 
little coterie went on strike in the English 
department when the Professor refused to debar 
Shakespere and Burns from the reading courses, 
in response to the charges drawn up and pre- 
sented by Jason's clique that those writers had 
unreadable passages in their works. Some one 
replied, that on this basis, Jason had better 
stop reading the Bible for the same reasons. 
To this Jason replied that "The Bible is the 
Bible, but Shakespere is only Shakespere!" 
But the more acute issues between Jason and his 
followers and the curriculum were to be found 
in the scientific and theological classrooms. 
Here the conflict between "science and religion" 
as the Church History termed it, became pointed, 
tragical. I can still see them, the two followers 
of Jason, standing before the scientific professor 
after class had been dismissed. They are on 

[105] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

scent of a terrible heresy! Aggressively they 
quiz the able exponent of science, as follows: 

"You said in this recitation, professor, that 
the world was created in millions of years?" 

"I did!" 

"But the Bible says plainly, that God cre- 
ated it in six days and that He rested from his 
labors on the seventh day!" 

"Oh, the Bible, in that part is not to be taken 
literally — it — " 

But he could get no further. Two shocked 
faces were before him, and one of the students 
interjected, 

"Why, we have to believe the Bible!" 

" We shall stick to the Bible ! " added the other 
in support. 

"But let me explain," began the professor, 
patiently, "you see the early Hebrews possessed 
no real science — " 

"But, professor," interrupted one of the 
students, "God revealed it to them and — " 

"We will not discuss the matter further at 
this time," interrupted the teacher. 

"But what shall we do when the examina- 
tion comes around," asked the first speaker, 
"if you tell us to give the age of the earth, we 
shall either have to say that it is millions of 
years old or that it was made in six days?" 

"Of course," added the second student, with 
finality, "we shall have to stick to the Bible 
statement, even if you mark us down!" 

[106] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Rest easy in your minds, young men," 
retorted the severely tried professor, "I don't 
think I shall call on you to undergo such a 
martyrdom!" 

Even the professor of elocution was not 
exempt from this little band of literalists. Some 
of this band had so firm a confidence in God 
that they "could leave with Him" what they 
were to speak, how they were to speak it, and 
the sort of gestures that should accompany 
their exhortations, for they were preparing 
themselves for the church. "Pa" Borden was 
the leader in this sort of thought. He had 
done some exhorting before becoming a member 
of the University, and he summed up the case 
quite well when he said, in his heavy, sober 
way, 

"What right has any man, I don't care who 
he is, to improve on what God has done, I'd 
like to know? It will be given us in that day, 
says the Bible, what we shall say and how we 
shall say it. What more do you want?" 

So this little band of the sons of the prophets 
stood apart from the kindly and helpful criti- 
cisms of the professor of elocution, and contin- 
ued their old practise of yanking their stiff arms, 
standing on their awkward feet, speaking from 
tight throats, in stubborn loyalty to their faith 
in God's oratorical interest in them. 

The patience, the Christian patience, of the 
professors carried them past such trivial, but 

[107] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

real annoyances with the same nobleness with 
which a true-compassed ship goes straight to 
its port despite the little chips that tap against 
it. For every one of these quibblers over doc- 
trine, there were several appreciative, awaken- 
ing minds, leaping at the truth. The professors 
centered their real efforts on the majority of 
those who could face the truth no matter in how 
startling a dress it first presented itself. In 
such, these deep-hearted, sacrificing teachers 
found their real reward: lasting gratitude. 



[108] 



Chapter X. The Magnitude of 
a Postage Stamp. Showing how 
Desperate the "Thirst of Money 
made me. Brock's Rosy Nose 
and its Possibilities as a Fireplace. 
How Brock thought he was Pool- 
ing me and the Other JVay About. 
The Barrow that Became our 
Enemy and how Brock was Re- 
venged on it 

IT was a morning in early December. An 
unsealed letter lay on my table, a Christ- 
mas greeting to a mill friend. I had 
written it the previous night. When the 
morning dawned, I realized that I had not 
enough money with which to purchase a stamp 
for it. A feeling of utter miserableness took 
hold of me. There I stood, working my way 
through school successfully, from week to week 
without any difficulty, and yet when it came to 

[109] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

forwarding a message of greeting to the outside 
world I was a pauper! That strong term mas- 
tered me. I knew that for the mere asking 
Thropper had a stamp waiting for me, but I 
resented the thought of charity, the humilia- 
tion of asking for the gift of a postage stamp. 
After chapel I went into the President's office 
and on being shown in, made the following 
announcement. 

"Please, Doctor, I think I had better leave 
the University. It is no use!" 

"What is the matter now, young man?" he 
enquired, gently. 

"I've got to earn some cash, sir. You know 
that I shall never have any by working for 
the University; it all goes on my account. I 
need some clothes, and just at present I need a 
stamp. I haven't handled any money since 
my three dollars was spent; it is almost three 
months since then." 

"But you don't have to run away from your 
education, do you?" asked the President, bend- 
ing on me his searching eyes. "I thought 
you would stick to it!" 

"But what can I do, sir?" I demanded, "I 
am busy waiting on the table, and cannot leave 
the campus to earn money. I give all my spare 
time to the University. If I could work a 
week or two at outside tasks I might get some 
money on hand." 

"There need be no trouble about that," 

[HO] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

agreed the President. "Get some one to take 
your place in the dining-hall on Saturdays, and 
I will see if there are any jobs you can do." 

The following morning, in chapel, the Dean 
read off my name as one of the students that 
the President wished to see, in his office. 

"There is a load of bricks on a siding of the 
brick-mill — you know where that is, of course," 
he said. "Brock has taken the contract for 
loading a car at something or other a thousand 

— which means about twenty cents an hour, I 
believe. He is quite willing to take you with 
him on Saturday, if you care for the % work." 

Inwardly I thought of my frail muscles hurling 
rows of brick through the air on a winter's day 

— and felt doubtful about the adventure, but 
the President was waiting for his answer, so 
I said hastily, 

"Anything at all, sir, that will bring me in 
a real, substantial piece of money. It will 
look big enough when I do see it, sir!" 

Thropper was eager to take a day off from 
the glass factory and so was able to take my 
place at the tables. I had a conference with 
Brock, relative to the proposed loading of the 
car of bricks. 

"Can you manage it?" he asked dubiously, 
scanning his eyes doubtfully over my frail 
physique. 

I was in a desperate mood just then, and with 
an accent in my voice that scorned even the sug- 

mi] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

gestion of any mental, physical, or moral inca- 
pacity, I declared, 

"Can I?" 

Then scanning Brock's ungeared physique, 
I asked in turn, 

"How about yourself? Seems to me you 
are a near rival to a centre -pole yourself, 
Brock!" 

He grinned, guiltily. 

"I used to exercise with dumb-bells — once 
upon a time. It is long since. I am afraid 
that the daily exercise of pressing the button 
of the call bell hasn't done well by my muscles." 

"I've watched the Portuguese load schooners 
with bricks many a time," I affirmed. 

"Your experience might help — some," he 
declared, "the man who engaged me told me 
how to place them in the car and all about the 
number of rows and the count. I'll be able to 
manage that part of it. I hope that you and 
I, Priddy, will be able to succeed with the brick 
end of it." 

"The way the brick loaders do," I explained, 
"is to pass them from hand to hand four or 
five bricks at a time — just like passing ball, 
you know!" 

"Urn, urn!" nodded Brock. "But what 
about the sharp ends of the bricks? They cut 
gashes in soft hands, of course." 

"Oh, we'll wear thick gloves," I explained, 
"something to protect the hands." 

[112] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"We should have to wear gloves under any 
circumstances," said Brock, "the weather we're 
getting is very far from a summer day!" 

"Oh, we'll manage all right," I affirmed, for 
the mere thought of a possible dollar and a 
half in cash set my brain in a whirl of incaution 
and illogical optimism. In that mood, if the 
President had offered me his place for a week 
— for a cash wage — it is doubtful if I should 
have refused him. 

By half-past seven the following Saturday 
morning, Brock and I, bundled in the oldest 
garments we had been able to borrow or beg, 
with quadruple thicknesses of old socks cover- 
ing our hands, for mittens, and with lunches 
put up in pasteboard boxes, left the village cen- 
ter, walked down a frozen turnpike, until we 
came to the lonesome, neglected brickyard 
with its Egyptian tombs of piled brick, yet 
unsold. A covered freight car had been left 
on the rusty siding; the car stood off from the 
nearest brick-pile separated by a gap of two 
yards. It was a dreary and very cold prospect, 
for the north wind surged down over the frozen 
pastures, and hummed and wailed through the 
black latticework of an abandoned oil-well on 
the opposite side of the track. 

"Your face is blue to begin with," mumbled 
my companion from behind the folds of his 
cap. 

"And your nose would make an excellent 

[113] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

danger signal on the rear end of a train," I 
retorted. "When my hands get cold, which 
they are rapidly doing, I'll warm them over 
your nose!" 

"Better get to work," suggested Brock, 
"before we freeze to death in this miserable 
place. Worth twenty cents an hour for this 
work, eh?" 

"Worth a dollar an hour, I think," I replied. 

We fixed some stout planks into a run-way 
between the top of a brick-pile and the freight 
car, after the door had been unbarred. We 
found a shallow and creaky barrow under a 
shed. After helping me fill it with the first 
load, Brock tried to wheel into the car what we 
had put in. He gained the edge of the plank, 
and the ill-balanced load dumped over on the 
ground. 

"We put in too many, to begin with," sug- 
gested Brock. "Next time we'll reduce the 
load by half. I forgot they were so heavy. I 
was too ambitious." 

The next load went across the planks success- 
fully, and after they had been dumped on the 
floor of the car, Brock said, 

"I'll pack these in the car the way the man 
told me, and then when the load is properly 
started, we can take turns with the barrow." 

At first it was exciting and warm work, but 
after the first warm glow had died down in the 
blood, my body began to stiffen with the expo- 

[114] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

sure. Then my muscles, ill-treated by excess- 
ive and continuous lifting of the loads, began 
to tighten and shoot with pain. But at first, I 
did not care to let Brock know, Brock, who was 
snugly shielded from the wind, with the easier 
and less straining task. But he must have 
noticed me gasp in with a load for he suddenly 
leaped to his feet and said, 

"Your turn here, now, Priddy. Give me the 
barrow!" 

I flung myself to the dusty floor of the car 
when he relieved me of the barrow and never 
lifted a hand until I heard him coming with his 
first load. Then I picked up a brick and fitted 
it in one of the rows, and tried to say cheerfully, 
when he entered, 

"Is that placed right, Brock?" 

"All right, Priddy," he replied, and then 
went out whistling with the barrow. 

With the change in the task, I recuperated 
somewhat, and worked on with the thought 
warming me, that every hour added twenty 
cents in cash to my credit. When the first 
twenty cents had been earned, I took heart 
and said to myself, 

"Well, I shall be able to buy that stamp for 
the letter!" 

Brock ceased whistling after his fourth load. 
I took a look at his face. It was pale and 
strained. 

"Hadn't you better take a breathing spell, 

[115] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

Brock?" I suggested. "It comes hard when 
one isn't used to it. That barrow wheels hard, 
too. We ought to have brought some wheel 
grease." 

"I guess I will sit down a few seconds," agreed 
Brock. "It's quite a lift — at first, but I think 
we'll manage the job, don't you?" 

"We'll try!" I commented, grimly. 

So we passed the barrow from hand to hand, 
the loads growing smaller and smaller as the 
noon hour approached, and the need of rest 
and change becoming more and more impera- 
tive. When half -past eleven arrived I proposed 
that we eat our lunches; not so much for the 
mere satisfaction of hunger, but for the oppor- 
tunity of absolute rest for an hour. Brock 
assented to the proposition the instant it had 
left my lips. In fact, he dropped his barrow 
in the middle of the plank; an act on which I 
commented by that fragment of an old song: 

" For I've worked four hours this day, this day, 
For I've worked four hours this day. 
Keep your whiskers on, till the morning, John, 
For I shan't work another minute longer ! " 

We closed the doors of the car, sat in a far 
corner and munched our bread and cold meat 
as if it had been a luxury from a king's ban- 
quet table. Then after our meal, in spite of 
the chilliness of the car, we stretched ourselves 
on our backs and gave our strained, worn muscler 
the opportunity of relaxation. 

[116] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"How do you feel?" Brock demanded after 
an interminable silence. 

"Cold, tired, weary and sick!" I replied, 
throwing the mask off. "Let us either wheel 
that old barrow again or go back to the 
University." 

"Well," muttered Brock, dispiritedly, "our 
backs can't really get much worse, Priddy. 
We might as well finish a day's work. If we 
leave now we'll be unfit for work for another 
week anyway. We might as well get all we 
can out of it while we are about it." 

" Oh, that barrow ! If it were a thing of flesh 
I'd stab it for my worst enemy!" I cried. 

We worked too steadily," suggested Brock. 

We were too ambitious. We'll loaf along this 
afternoon and take more frequent rests. You 
pack the bricks for awhile. I'll wheel!" 

"Lucky you proposed to wheel first," I mut- 
tered, "for I'd have gone on strike if I'd been 
the first." 

Brock looked knowingly at me, showed me 
the blisters on his hands and said, 

"I know just how you feel!" 

Numb, dispirited, weary and backsore, we 
worked until four o'clock in the afternoon. At 
that time, Brock was just coming across the 
bridge with a reduced load, staggering under 
it. I called out to him, 

"I'll not handle another brick!" 

"Neither will I!" he replied, losing his grip 

[1171 



a 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

and the handles of the barrow so that it fell 
to the frozen ground with a resounding thud. 
"I'm done!" 

When we reported at the office of the brick- 
yard owner, and Brock had given the compu- 
tations of the work we had done, my heart 
throbbed warmly for the first time since early 
morning when we were each handed a dollar 
and ten cents in real cash! 

"This is the first money I have handled for 
three months!" I could not help exclaiming in 
the office. 

"Do you mean it?" asked the contractor, 
interestedly. 

"I do, sir!" 

"Then any time between now and the end 
of the month that you want to earn a dollar 
or two come to this office and I'll have some more 
bricks for you to load." 

I looked with a smile towards Brock. Brock 
returned my gaze with a hearty laugh. Then 
he said, holding out his swollen hands, for the 
man to view, 

"No, thanks!" 

And I, I said, 

"Cash is good and I need it, but I think I'll 
leave the handling of bricks to the Portuguese." 



[118] 



Chapter XL How I Competed 
with Patrick Henry and was made 
Aware of an Uneconomical Waste 
of the Eighth Letter of the Al- 
phabet. How I Condensed all my 
Studies into an Oration. How the 
Populace Greeted my Rehearsal. 
Striking the "Top Pitch 

BY the middle of the year I had obtained 
such a grip on study that I was bold 
enough to incorporate two extra sub- 
jects in the week's routine. Besides 
that, I conceived the idea of reading 
English history outside of class and then secur- 
ing permission to pass an examination on it, a 
scheme in which the teacher acquiesced. I 
felt that I must make up for lost time and 
hungrily, voraciously threw myself at the priv- 
ilege which fortune had brought me. I began 
to realize in my own mind what men called 

[119] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"enthusiasm in his work." Every day seemed 
to me a momentous day of opportunity: a day 
in which I might atone for the educational privi- 
lege I had missed up to my twentieth birth- 
day. When I saw Aborn, stately, gifted, and on 
his way towards his Master's degree at twenty, 
I was made to realize how long a road I had be- 
fore me and how energetic I should have to be 
in order to get anywhere in education from my 
elementary and preparatory studies. So I put 
in my studies an investment of interest and 
patient attention which I had put in no other 
work that I had ever done. 

The most outstanding interest that I had 
was the class in oratory. This class met on 
the top floor, under the rafters, in a room 
directly off from the chapel. It resembled the 
studio of a poor artist with its gray northern 
skylight and little windows high above the 
bare floor. The class included young men and 
women. Nearly all were preparing for religious 
work, as ministers, missionaries, and evangelists. 
One student, a shock-haired young Westerner 
with "temperament" and "personality," who 
generally sat in the pose of an actor, was plan- 
ning for the career of a public reader. 

After the preliminary weeks of physical gym- 
nastics and throat clearing, and after we were 
able to say "Oh!" without making the flame 
of a candle flicker, we began on the real excite- 
ment of speaking Orations; I began with the 

[ 120 ] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

traditional Patrick Henry, of course, and nat- 
urally, after long and patient rehearsals in my 
room credited myself with the fact that if the 
author of that thriller should chance to come 
into the oratorical studio on the morning when 
I planned to recite it before my professor, he 
would feel that his forceful utterance had passed 
into no mean mouth! 

The morning on which I was scheduled to 
speak duly arrived and with it an increase in 
my confidence that I should do well with it: 
the confidence without which no orator yet — 
in school — ever did much. I stood put before 
the class, struck my pose — left foot at an angle 
from the right and slightly in front with the 
weight on the right foot to maintain balance — 
and attempted to recreate the atmosphere, the 
thrill, and the historic eloquence of the Vir- 
ginia Convention where the oration had had its 
birth, before the innumerable army of school 
lads had passed it on from generation to genera- 
tion. Applause greeted my effort and I sat 
down in a flush of happiness. However, the 
professor, after crediting me several points of 
excellence, brought up a criticism that plunged 
me into a sweat of guilty self -consciousness. 
He said, 

"Mr. Priddy, why is it that you aspirate 
your words so? I know you were born in Eng- 
land, but you have been in this country for some 
time now. There were several places in the 

[121] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

oration where you placed ' h's ' where they should 
not have been placed, and where you left them 
off when they should have been retained!" 

It was the first time in my whole life that 
anybody had called my attention to that fault. 
I said, 

"Will you please give me samples, sir?" 

"Well," replied the professor, consulting his 
tablet, "y° u said 'w'ile' instead of 'while/ 
and ' Hi ' instead of the pronoun ' I.' And ' w'at ' 
instead of 'what,' and 'Forbid it, ffalmighty 
God,' and you declaimed that passage, 'Is life 
so dear or peace so sweet as to be purchased 
at the price of chains and slavery?' became 
'if is life so dear hor peace so sweet has to be 
bought hat the price of chains and slavery?' 

I felt angry at myself, chagrined. There 
trooped into my guilt-smitten consciousness 
the innumerable times I must have put 'h's' 
where they had not belonged and left them off 
where they should have been retained. 

"Nobody ever told me — about it before, 
sir!" I exclaimed. 

"This is just the place to get rid of the habit," 
replied the professor. "I am here to help you. 
I think that when you get rid of that habit 
you will make a fair showing in public speech. 
Now that you are aware of it, you will be on 
your guard." 

I made known my discovery at the waiter's 
table at noon, and instantly my friends poured 

[122] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

out for my consideration a whole museum of 
sentences I had originated in their hearing and 
over which they had secretly smiled. It seems 
I had said, "Ave you got your 'at, Brock?" 
and "Will you 'ave another Hegg, please?" 
and "Look hout for this 'ot water!" When the 
waiters saw that I took the criticism in good 
part and was eagerly anxious to rid my speech 
of that defect, they were instant and some- 
times severe in their criticisms; with the result 
that in a very short while I gained the advan- 
tage over my "h's" and somewhat tamed them. 
With the mastery of my "h's" and the daily 
discipline in the oratorical class came an over- 
mastering desire to make a public speech. I 
thought that if I could accomplish that I should 
vindicate myself so far as I had gone in my 
education. It should be the first milestone in 
my school career. The opportunity was given 
in a proposed oratorical contest to be held in 
the village church. I took Thropper into my 
confidence as I prepared my original oration. 
Into this I tried to exemplify every admirable 
rule of rhetoric and every stern rule of logic and 
every manner of long, short, periodic, balanced, 
and climactic sentence I was then learning in 
Rhetoric. I marshalled historical allusions, read 
widely in the library hour after hour. Then, 
when I had put myself through this profitable 
discipline and had typewritten my manuscript 
— the final triumph of my educational career 

[123] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

thus far — I was ready for rehearsals. After 
I had practised alone and as the evening of the 
contest drew near, I asked Thropper if each 
evening after supper he would accompany me 
into the woods and listen while I delivered 
my oration. He consented, cheerfully enough. 
That same evening he accompanied me to the 
pastures in the rear of the University. I 
poised myself seriously on a stump, while Throp- 
per stood with his back to the wind in a waiting 
attitude. I had not delivered more than two 
paragraphs of my speech before there came a 
yell from behind me and a half-dozen students 
ran shouting, applauding and screaming be- 
fore me. When the crowd of interrupters had 
exhausted their animal spirits, I said to them, 
addressing them from the stump, 

"I've a good mind to invite you to stand out 
there near Thropper and listen!" 

"Why not?" they demanded. 

"If you can't address a bunch of farmers 
like these," smiled Thropper, "you won't be 
able to stand up in church before three hundred 
people and give it. Go ahead!" 

I did, and the result was that the students 
rallied about me at the end, carried me on their 
shoulders, shouting, mockingly, 

"Hail to the new Webster!" and to show their 
approval of me, they sat me astride a rail and 
would have given me a ride home on that con- 
veyance had not Thropper prevented it. 

[124] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

The evening of the contest arrived and with 
it the seating of seasoned, experienced, graceful, 
prize-winning orators, in comparison with whom 
I knew I should not and could not under any 
stretch of the imagination be placed. I wanted 
to give a speech in public, that was the height 
to which my expectancy went, but, of course, 
I had to set before me the prizes that were offered 
and be prepared for "accidents." When my 
turn came and I faced that illimitable sea of 
white faces, I felt my feet slip from under me 
while I seemed to float above this conscious 
world. Then I picked out an interested face 
in the far, far corner of the church. At him I 
threw my strident voice, determined to make 
him hear what I had to say. The result was, 
in Thropper's words, "Priddy, it seemed that 
you placed your pitch on top of the highest 
mountain in the world, and after that it was a 
scream, that's all, old fellow. That was due 
to inexperience." 

But this failure was atoned for when the 
judges especially commented on the "careful 
thought," "the good English," and "the ex- 
cellent form of the written oration" and when 
they marked me in second place on the literary 
side of the matter, I felt repaid with my first 
adventure into public speech. I felt that I 
had vindicated the struggles I had set before 
me, through the long years, to go through the 
school. 

[125] 



Chapter XII. The Personnel of 
" The Clamorous Eight" and other 
Social Matters. The « Blepoes" 
and the "Boulomaies" Invite me 
into Fellowship with a Protest from 
fa son. Epics and Lyrics of Love. 
"Pa" Borden Speaks for the 
Benedicts on a Momentous Matter. 
How the Magic "Tree Lured Some 
Unfaithful Ones from their Sworn 
Duty 

THE routine of that winter's work was 
embroidered with many interesting 
social experiences. For though 
many of the students were stern in 
religious doctrine and practise, 
hearts were youthful and recreation was 
sought. Thropper belonged to a "Bachelor's 
Club," a facetious group of married and un- 

[126] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

married male students who met every now and 
then for the avowed purpose of upholding the 
dignity of bachelor dom! Thropper also joined 
a "Moustache Club," whose members met and 
compared lip sprouts and looked forward to 
the day when they would be sufficiently mature 
to be called "moustaches." These two insti- 
tutions were more satirical than practical; 
outlets for the humor resident in the students. 
But the "Clamorous Eight" was a real institu- 
tion of the noisiest, most untamed spirits of 
the school, seven of whom were young men 
and the eighth member a young, gum-chewing, 
blondish, hobbledehoy girl in the Business 
department. What we knew of the charter 
of the "Clamorous Eight" was in their shout- 
ings, their numerous practical jokes, their songs, 
and their rebellions against the University rules. 
If anything of an unlawful nature occurred, 
like the throwing of a live rooster into the sleep- 
ing room of a sedate female monitor or the 
placing near the chapel door of a stuffed dummy, 
suspicion of its own, fluent accord fixed itself 
first of all on the "Clamorous Eight," and hung 
there with tenacity until every member had 
been through a "Faculty sweat." 

There were two rival literary societies in the 
University and the students were supposed to 
be portioned out between them. The "Ble- 
poes" or "The Seers" and the "Boulomaies" 
— "The Willers" sent their agents after me and 

[127] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

made a bid for my membership. These were 
not secret organizations, for such an institu- 
tion was considered sinful by the University 
authorities. Their gatherings were open to the 
public and each student was supposed to attend 
the different meetings before deciding which 
society he would join. Jason, who considered 
even these literary meetings harmful to the mor- 
ale of the students, on hearing that I had been 
asked to join one of them, sought me out and 
for a long mournful hour tried to make me 
promise to keep my name off their rolls, "For," 
he whined, "they are of the Devil, brother 
Priddy!" 

"What makes you think so?" I demanded. 

"They joke in their meetings and tell light 
things and for every idle word God will hold 
us accountable!" 

"But jokes and light conversation have their 
places in life, haven't they?" I persisted. 

Jason looked at me with his round, poet's 
eyes growing rounder in wonderment. 

"Lincoln couldn't have borne the weight of 
the Civil War if it had not been for jokes and 
fun — at times," I concluded. 

"But the Bible says that for every idle word 
we shall have to give a full account," said Jason. 
"Are not jokes idle words?" 

"They don't — eh — " I stammered, limply. 

"The Bible is true, isn't it?" went on the 
logician. 

[128] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

I gave up in desperation. 

"Look here, Jason," I cried, "you might get 
me to give up wearing a watch-chain and a 
tie-pin, but you aren't going to stop me from 
joining one of these societies. I want social 
life and I'm going to have it, jokes or no jokes. 
I'm not so good as you on logic or Bible, but you 
aren't going to stand between me and a few 
pleasures. Don't some of the faculty belong 
to the Blepoes and the Boulomaies? If they 
can join without scruples — and they are Chris- 
tian men and women — I can join. So it's no 
use arguing the matter with me, Jason. I 
think I'll send in my name to the Blepoes for 
the next meeting." 

And I did join myself to the Blepoes and par- 
took of their suppers, their programs, and even 
went so far one night as to appear on the plat- 
form myself, before a blackboard on which I 
drew sketches to illustrate a temperance address, 
and at the conclusion of which I recited with 
great fervor and many gestures, Kipling's 
"Recessional." 

That winter, too, though far outside of love, 
and even the thoughts of love, in the seriousness 
of my tasks, I looked on little epics and little 
lyrics of love between man and woman. Throp- 
per himself had Cupid's dart in his heart and 
his rhapsodies concerning his "luck" and his 
"happiness" and "her wonderful sweet spirit" 
were only a few of many indications of the depth 

[129] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

to which he had fallen in love. Those of us 
who were not enamored of love had to be diplo- 
matic in making engagements to walk or exer- 
cise with the boys, for there were times and 
seasons when Thropper and his fellow-lovers 
devoted themselves exclusively to their fian- 
cees. For instance, there was lecture night 
in Pubbets Junction, six miles away, and on 
that evening, under chaperonage, the couples 
would seat themselves in carriages and not be 
back till midnight, returning to tell the bache- 
lors and maidens the next morning the express- 
ive points of the lecture and any exciting 
episodes of the trip, like the adventure of the 
wheels up to the axles in mud and a plunging 
horse pulled out by a nearby farmer, the adven- 
ture which befell Thropper and his love when 
they were on their way to hear Sam Small 
lecture. Those among us, like myself, who were 
not concerned with sentiment, held various 
speculative conferences, on Sunday evenings, 
as to how this and that student would mate. 
We had precedent to argue from, for we had 
seen Donald Bryce, a laughing-eyed Evangelist- 
to-be, pick out Clara Trine, an athletic and 
extremely conscientious Missionary-to-be. We 
had seen one of the "Clamorous Eight," a light- 
haired, flush-cheeked banker-to-be, sort out 
and become deeply attached to the female 
member of the "Eight," the blondish hobble- 
dehoy, whom we judged, like grocery store 

[130] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

sages, would at least fit herself to spend quickly 
enough what money he should chance to make 
as a banker. 

These loving couples considerably colored 
our social life and often made the University 
picnics problems. When the first touch of 
spring pervaded the gassy atmosphere and, 
at least, suggested the scent of coming flowers 
and grassy banks, notice was given out by 
Brock one Saturday morning that the usual 
spring trip to the river would be undertaken 
and that each one who went should go to the 
kitchen and prepare a lunch from materials 
that would be furnished by the cooks. * 

After the breakfast a meeting of the excursion- 
ists was held in the reception room, presided 
over by Brock, who announced, 

"Now, friends, this year — mind you, this 
year, we are going to keep together. In the 
past, on our excursions, there has been altogether 
too much coupling up and going off alone. That 
has spoiled more than one excursion and it is 
not the fair thing. Is it?" 

A chorus of "Noes" gave emphasis to his 
protest and appeal. 

'This time, though," he went on to explain, 
"we are to keep together. No matter if you 
are in love with the sweetest girl on earth and 
can't be alone much under the University rules, 
you are not to wander off when we get out of 
bounds and not come around to the main 

[131] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

party again until lunch time and then go off 
and not return till it is time to come home. 
What have you to say about it, Brother Bor- 
den?" 

"Pa" Borden, thus appealed to, raised his 
pompous head, cleared his throat after the 
best mode of the orator, and said, 

"I'm married myself and maybe shouldn't 
have much to say on the matter. I agree with 
everything's been said: agree with it hard!" 
and to give oratorical force to his last word, 
he brought his plump fist down on the centre 
table, thereby spilling half the water out of the 
glass which held in it a sprig of geranium. 

A representative of the Benedicts having 
been heard, Thropper, as representing the un- 
married was asked for his opinion. He replied, 

"Of course we ought to keep together. I'm 
certain of it, Mr. Chairman. That's all I need 
to say!" 

At nine o'clock the excursionists started for 
the river forty-five people strong. To prove 
the sincerity of the social aspect of the excur- 
sion, Thropper and the other lovers separated 
themselves from their beloveds and walked, 
sacrificially, either with other young women or 
mingled freely with the male members of the 
party! Thus two by two and three by three 
we walked down the rutted, soggy lane past 
the root-fenced sheep pastures where the woolly 
young lambs squeaked and bleated like crying 

[132] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

children, down past the grove where the wood- 
choppers were measuring cord wood ; past dismal, 
wind-swept forests of burnt stumps and rusty 
underbrush, over which desolation huge vul- 
tures soared, and pivoted themselves in wait 
for prey; past clayey roads over which mud 
boats were dragged by struggling horses and 
oxen, past pig-pastures torn up by the sniffing 
snouts of the ruminants. Then we entered a 
fresh, dampish wood-path which led us along 
the rocky bed of a river over which a thin 
stream of water churned with great energy as 
if to impress us with its importance % At last 
we entered a cleared grass space over which the 
sun held itself and lighted gloriously the deep 
pool of water the river had become. Here we 
deposited our lunch boxes and began to arrange 
our games. So far the party had remained 
one, much to the admiration of Brock. But 
now, after the lunch boxes had been unloaded, 
a rearrangement of the party began to take 
place. Thropper, who had been walking and 
talking with me, hurried over to the side of his 
beloved, and said: 

"There's a magic tree farther along the 
path, growing right through a big boulder, 
about which there's a legend of Indians. 
I'll tell you about it!" 

That was all. They two passed out of sight 
while the angry Brock gazed speechlessly after 
them. That was the signal for other couples 

[133] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

who wanted to see the "magic tree," and to 
such an extent did the defection of the lovers 
take place, that before long only two couples 
remained with the bachelors to share the games 
we tried to play. 

By the lunch hour, however, they came from 
their expeditions from this side and that, unapol- 
ogetic for leaving us, came to eat their lunches 
and then go off again, paying no heed to Brock's 
impassioned appeal to their esprit de corps. 
When the hour for the return to the Univer- 
sity arrived, the couples returned and then 
either went ahead, arm in arm, or loafed behind, 
immersed in their own thoughts; leaving us 
bachelors to amuse ourselves by bantering 
flings at them, which, however, were no more 
than peas aimed at the mailed shell of an 
armadillo. 

"It'll be the same over again next time!" 
growled Brock. "These lovers — oh!" 



[134] 



Chapter XI I L How One Dol- 
lar and a Half Secured " The 
Devil in Society" The Medicine 
Chest which Became a Tract De- 
pository under the Teachings of a 
New Creed. How I Stuck to 
Orthodoxy 

THE spring was full upon us, with the 
return of the birds, the tang of the 
new plowed soil in the sugar- 
field where the "University Mare" 
tugged listlessly at the plow whose 
blade sliced through the clayey earth leaving 
back of it shiny, damp slices on which the birds 
stood and pecked up the exposed grubs and 
worms. The dynamite wagon with its frail 
springs and its dangerous load jogged by along 
the turnpike on its way to newly-bored oil- 
wells. Flocks of sheep with an accompanying 
host of maximum-legged lamblets passed over 
the turnpike on their way to the railroad-cars, 
to be followed by grunting packs of hogs directed 

[135] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

by sapling-armed drovers who in one minute 
of speech profaned the whole English language. 
Chugging traction-engines, hauling plows and 
harrows and on their way to hundred-acred 
wheat and corn fields, passed in the night-time 
with their shrill whistle-screams for water and 
their explosive puffing and puffing as if no breath 
in their steel bodies could successfully spurt 
them through the soft mire. 

Thropper said to me, one afternoon, 

"Priddy, how would you like to sell books?" 

"Sell books, Thropper?" 

Thropper nodded. 

"What for?" I asked, interestedly. 

"For money, of course, Priddy! What do 
you think?" 

"It takes talk to sell books, Thropper!" 

"Then you ought to make a success at the 
business, Priddy!" 

"What's the book?" 

"'The Devil in Society, or High Life in 
Washington by an Ex-Congressman,'" quoted 
Thropper. 

" Sensational, then? " 

"A moral book — with a lesson," laughed 
Thropper, "pepper to make you know that it 
stings, you see, Priddy. Fifty per cent on each 
one. Buy them for seventy-five cents, sell for 
dollar and a half. Easy money, everybody 
wants the book on sight. I'll loan you three 
dollars for four if you want. Sure to sell them ! " 

[136] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Anything to get some cash," I cried. "Be- 
sides this would take me on Saturday trips into 
the surrounding towns. That would be quite 
an adventure after staying here throughout 
the winter. Will you show me the book?" 

"'Pa' Borden will bring one around tonight. 
He's the general agent," declared my roommate. 

In the evening, before the half-past seven 
bell had signalled silence and study, "Pa" 
Borden had displayed the book to us. It was 
a lurid green cloth-bound affair in which the 
glue showed in the web of the cloth, printed 
with blotched, worn type on the cheapest of 
cheap paper and interspersed with Amateur- 
ish wood-cuts of which I recall a drunken revel 
in a ball-room and some ballet-dancer-garbed 
women on a seashore with wooden waves indi- 
cated by wavy lines. I was no connoisseur of 
literature at the time and took as solemn truth 
"Pa" Borden's words that "anything that 
was of the Devil ought to be showed up, even 
if it cost a dollar and a half!" I allowed Throp- 
per to get me four of the books and placed my- 
self under his instructions for a week during 
which time I learned how to point out the chief 
items of interest in the illustrations when they 
were upside down, to give a kinetescopic view 
of the table of contents, and to end by flashing 
the record of previous sales before the aston- 
ished housewife's eyes before she could make up 
her mind whether she wanted the book or not. 

[137] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

The following week, then, after engaging a 
substitute waiter for the day I accompanied 
Thropper to Pubbets Junction to place "The 
Devil in Society." The first door on which I 
knocked chanced to be that of a Christian Science 
Reader, a very highly cultivated and sweet- 
spirited woman who, the minute I announced 
that I was agent for a book entitled "The Devil 
in Society" immediately knocked my "patter" 
hors de combat by announcing, firmly, that 
there was no such thing as a Devil and that 
it was all a delusion of mortal mind, adding 
various other remonstrances of a philosophical, 
semi-philosophical, and dogmatic nature which 
I was in no mood or mind to combat. Besides 
bewildering me in the intellectual meshes of 
that new doctrine, the woman made me sit in 
her office and listen to a fascinating recital of 
her household's progress from a drug-store of 
drugs to an empty medicine chest: to a radical 
change in the family temper from semi-pessi- 
mism into a real sunburst of glorious, mellow- 
ing optimism: to an intricate and involved 
interpretation of the Old Testament and then 
in a very cloudy but, to me, excitingly suggestive 
denial of all facts that men and books had told 
me were positive and real. All this, of course, 
was the precursor to an attempt to proselyte 
me to the faith of Christian Science. After 
she had shown me the empty medicine chest, 
which she was then using as a store-house for 

[138J 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

all sorts of Christian Science literature, I told 
her that I had learned a great deal that was 
both new and novel, that I would think it over 
seriously, but that I should never believe in 
anything but orthodoxy. Then I called at the 
next house and many other houses, so that by 
noon, when I met Thropper at a candy store, 
where we lunched on a glass of milk and some 
Washington pie, I had sold two books and earned 
one dollar and a half. In the flush of that suc- 
cess, I returned to the University, ready to 
repeat the excursion the following and several 
other Saturday mornings. According^to Throp- 
per's epigram, "The Devil in Society" meant 
dollars in our pockets! 



[139] 



Chapter XIV. A Chapter De- 
picting how Strife Existed Between 
the Pro-Gymnasiums and the Anti- 
Gymnasiums and Showing how 
Baseball \ Debates and an Epi- 
demic Determined Matters "This 
Way and "That 

NEXT to its faith in religion an 
extreme abhorrence of matched 
athletic games pervaded the rul- 
ing spirits of the University and 
found its sanction in the charter 
of the institution. In the Bleponian and Boul- 
omanian literary societies the characteristic 
discussion for heated and vigorous debate, 
next to the eternal question: Does Love or 
Money Rule the World? was: Are Athletic 
Contests Moral? The charter and advertise- 
ments of the University said very emphatically 
that they were not and should not be tolerated 
by Christian people. Jason and his Board of 

[140] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

Pharisees agreed with the University. On the 
other hand, there were many young men and 
women who had an opposite mind and took 
issue on every occasion with Jason and the 
authorities. Thus one could find them on 
every occasion in the springtime when the 
fields and the paved paths lured forth what- 
ever sporting proclivities nature had deposited 
in the blood, Jason and his followers firmly 
insisting that under no consideration should a 
contest of any sort — even a game of checkers 
or "Pit" be countenanced, as it led to gambling, 
and, if not to gambling, then to unchristian 
feeling. This feeling became acute when the 
students began to discuss the necessity for an 
athletic field and a gymnasium: a very hypo- 
thetical discussion remote and probably ever 
to remain remote, for the University had need 
of money for more impending goods than 
gymnasiums. But Jason's party argued as if 
the gymnasium were about to be built, and said 
that it would only lead young men into racing 
for prizes ! — and competing for wagers ! The 
party was called the Anti-Gymnasiums. 

Thropper and I aligned ourselves to the Pro- 
Gymnasiums, for, as Thropper said to me: 

"My kneecaps fairly creak for need of stretch- 
ing. As for my arm joints and muscles, they 
pain me on the least provocation. I need 
proper, systematic exercise." 

The Pro-Gymnasiums were thoroughly rep- 

[141] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

resented by "The Clamorous Eight," whose 
faces and veins throbbed with healthy, well- 
exercised blood; in fact, they were eight who 
cared for little else beyond exercise of muscles. 

The program of the Blepoes one Friday even- 
ing was devoted to the debate of the question: 
"Resolved: That the Bible Prohibits Athletic 
Contests." Larry Thomas, who debated for 
the Pro's and who was almost as well versed in 
biblical lore as was Jason, argued well, basing 
his strongest rhetoric on Paul's words: "I so 
run that I may receive a prize," and "I box, 
not as beating the air," but, as Larry para- 
phrased it, freely, "to give a knock-out, pure 
and simple, a plain indication that Paul believed 
in the prize-ring and the running-track!" The 
Anti's, realizing the force of these quotations, 
attempted to minimize their power by arguing, 
"Oh, Paul was only using the common terms 
of his day; the ordinary experiences of unchris- 
tian men, to represent to them the Christian 
life. That was all. He was not giving sanc- 
tion to sports." This explanation, the judges 
informed us, considerably helped the Anti's, 
but the debate was declared a draw. 

One Saturday morning when the air was 
crammed with the warmth and lassitude of 
early summer, and a considerable number of 
Pro-Gymnasiums were playing scrub baseball, 
one of the "Clamorous Eight," in a fit of healthy 
rebellion against the University, proposed: 

[142] 




Evangelical University was Treated to its First Match Game 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Say, fellows, this knocking out a ball is 
too tame. Let's choose up sides. There's no 
harm in it!" 

Thropper, who was not working that day, 
and myself, were among those enjoying the 
sport, and in the excitement and thoughtless- 
ness of the minute we consented. I was placed 
in the field, Thropper went in the catcher's 
box. We even engaged the services of an um- 
pire, though few were found from whom we 
could select a capable official. Many of the 
Pro's dared not come into the game, but stood 
off ready to look on an incident that should 
become historic, like a Civil War or a French 
Revolution: the first matched game ever played 
on the University grounds! 

Jason looked on the opening of the game with 
horror. To him it seemed that the Evil One 
had just made his bold appearance in the morale 
of the institution. When he heard the umpire's 
decisions and saw the sides changing positions, 
and realized at last that the whole event had 
actually developed into a matched game, he 
hurried to the home of the Dean and gave no- 
tice of the rebellion that he had scented. In- 
stantly the authorities came, ordered the game 
disbanded, took our names for Faculty disci- 
pline, and we left the field to the Anti's, who 
sincerely believed that Satan himself had been 
flouted. 

But even the anti-match spirit of Jason and 

[143] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

his band could not eliminate from their joints 
and muscles the need of exercise, and while 
they argued against the advent of contested 
sports, they could be found on the cinder walk 
after supper, previous to the evening prayer- 
service, leaping, bounding, twisting, and jump- 
ing, Jason in competition manifesting the grace 
of a rheumatic frog. 

Shortly after this an epidemic of disease 
broke out in the village. The University was 
quarantined — even from attendance at the 
village church services. The momentousness 
of this is plainly evident when it is remembered 
that it was these church services which gave 
to the University lovers their chance to walk 
together, sit together, sing and pray and talk 
together; consequently the quarantine imposed 
a severe restriction upon the poor unfortunates. 

When Sunday dawned, glorious with the sum- 
mer sun, some of the members of Jason's clique 
together with their young ladies took their 
black-bound Bibles and sat under the campus 
saplings for Bible study: two in a class and 
every sapling shade occupied. 

But the Dean, who hated sham of every sort, 
interrupted these classes and the next morn- 
ing in chapel he had some very emphatic and 
pointed remarks to make on the subject: "The 
Sacrilege of Pretending to Study the Bible when 
You are Doing Nothing but Make Love!" 

It was the Pro-gymnasiums' turn to laugh then. 

[144] 



Chapter XV. A Ph.D. in a 

Clay Ditch and the Futility of it. 
A Can of Beans at the Conclusion 
of a Morbid Meditation. How 
Thropper and I Played* David 
and fonathan 

THE first summer vacation brought 
joy to a majority of the students, 
but to me it merely meant a lonely 
isolation for three months on the 
campus where I was accustomed to 
watch my friends move back and forth hour 
after hour through the day. They went out with 
tents: the Evangelists. They went out with 
books: the canvassers. They went out with 
brawn and health: the miners and farmers. 
They left me alone to share the solitude of the 
campus with the few professors who were not 
going to conferences, and with the superintend- 
ent of grounds, whose assistant I was to be. 
The winter's struggle, though pleasant, had 

[145] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

left me tired and listless. I needed a rest, 
but saw no possibility of any. I had few good 
clothes and no money. Any adventure into the 
world would have been utter folly. So I began 
to scrub floors in the University building, to 
mow the grass and trim the flowers. I painted 
and scraped and hung wall paper, all in the 
silences of the dormitories once full of merry 
sounds, the recollections of which doubled the 
loneliness I suffered from. 

Meanwhile I made my home in the little 
room where we had held our feast in honor 
of Queen Victoria's birthday. In it stood the 
stove on which I cooked my own meals : canned 
goods, tea, and sundry fries of bacon, eggs, 
ham, and potatoes. Here, too, I washed my 
clothes. 

During a lull in the work, one of the married 
students, who had been given his Ph.B. at 
commencement asked me to go with him to the 
outskirts of the village where some eight-inch 
gas pipes were to be laid. He wanted me to 
join him at the shovel! At the time I weighed 
but one hundred and twenty pounds. The 
foreman put us in a clay ditch under a scalding 
July sun with a gang of knotted-muscled, tanned 
Irishmen to whom the picking of dried lumps 
of clay and the shovelling of heaps of it were 
mere items of a day's work to be done mechan- 
ically, but for my friend and myself tasks for 
Titans. The Irishmen at my heels kept passing 

[146] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

me, doubling on me, until, after a two days' 
attempt, with the lure of twenty-five cents an 
hour for the prize, my, friend with his Ph.B. 
and I with my ambitions fell out of the race 
and rode wearily back to the village and to the 
University, where for days neither of us was 
fit for even so simple a task as lifting a pound 
weight; the excessive strain had undermined 
our strength. 

While recuperating, I was given food by the 
superintendent and spent most of my time 
wandering into the woods or through the sheep 
pastures where my uppermost thought was: 
" What is the use of all this? It is weariness and 
a vanity of the flesh. Give up your education! 
You must have money and strength, money and 
strength, money and strength!" And then the 
thought of my classmates would obtrude itself 
and I saw them in visions at their tasks, at 
their homes, in the full enjoyment of work, 
companionship, and wages. I seemed to hear, 
borne on the summer wind, above the bleating 
of the sheep, the exhortations of the evangel- 
ists in their tents which were crowded with 
farmers, paying heed to the gospel, and I was 
envious of them. I thought of the miners 
deep under the earth, black with their toil 
but happy in earning a substantial wage; 
strong, oh, so strong! My fight for an educa- 
tion, when contrasted with their natural endow- 
ments of strength and friendships, seemed puny, 

[147] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

futile. In such a way did the black demon 
Despair lay its sharp claws on my spirit and 
make it bleed. I would start back across the 
field, not heeding the innocent, questioning 
gaze of the sheep as they packed off and watched 
me go, not watching the swift circlings of the 
sombre vultures high above my head, but going 
back to my lonely room feeling that I should 
never have another flash of happiness flood my 
life again. Then I would get out the can- 
opener, uncover a can of beans, and warm them 
on the stove for supper. 

But everything has its end, even as my home- 
sickness and discouragement had their ending 
when the students came back once more, bring- 
ing others with them. They came back flushed 
with eagerness for another year's work; eager 
once more to invest themselves in sacred ties 
of friendship. Thropper came back with a 
hundred dollars: his summer's earnings. I 
reported that I had just managed to pay my 
last year's tuition and my summer's board: 
I could enter upon my second year of educa- 
tion with a clean slate. 

Once more the round of studies, prayer-meet- 
ings, and chores commenced : this time with less 
of novelty. The approach to winter brought 
with it the same questions of how to earn cash. 
To this end I went into the woods for a day and 
tried to chop down trees, but my arms were not 
attuned to axe swinging; after my first cord 

[148] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

had been cut I had to abandon the quest for 
dollars in that healthful but too vigorous work. 
I returned to the University and assisted the 
baker with bread and pies and the janitor with 
the university floors; the money to be credited 
against my account on the books. 

But I realized at last that I was in the midst 
of inestimable privileges. The studies awakened 
me to the possibilities of culture and mental 
fitness. Some of my last year's friends had 
entered upon the pleasant vocations of teach- 
ing and business for which they received a mod- 
erate, but, as it appeared to me, a pattering 
compensation. Thropper — ever on the alert 
with inspiration — comforted me one night 
when my empty pockets had induced a pessi- 
mistic frame of mind, by saying: 

"Now look here, Priddy. Suppose you don't 
have any money and have to scrimp on things. 
Here you are privileged to take extra studies 
every day; a millionaire's son couldn't do more. 
You don't have to lose a term of study, either. 
You are going along through the schedule about 
as comfortably as any one. That's worth a 
good deal. There's Harry Lane — got plenty of 
money, but you know he was compelled to drop 
out for a term on account of bad eyes. You're 
lucky, old fellow!" and the good-natured fel- 
low gave me a staggering, but well-meant, clap 
on the shoulder that knocked every ounce of 
pessimism out of my system. 

[149J 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"I am in luck, Thropper. I know it!" I 
declared, and then went to my study with new 
courage. "The only trouble about the whole 
matter, Thropper," I declared, after some 
moments of quietness, "is that I am making 
the fight alone — no one to rely on if I get stuck, 
you know. The other fellows can depend upon 
more or less from friends — I can't; all those 
bridges are cut behind me!" 

Thropper closed his book with an energetic 
snap. 

"You chump!" he exclaimed, with a melt- 
ing light in his clear eyes, "what do you think? 
That you haven't won any friends since com- 
ing to the University? That's where you're 
wrong: sadly out of tune! All you have to do, 
any day, is to say the word and you can get 
any amount I have on hand!" 

I jumped to my feet and said, very gently, 
"Thropper, you're all right!" 

Then, without another word, for the situa- 
tion was getting close to the edge of tears, 
Thropper threw himself in his stuffed chair and 
I sat on the edge of the bed, under the hissing 
flare of the gas, both of us as busy as could be 
with the next day's lessons. 



[150] 



Chapter XV L Visions, Hysteria, 
Dogma, and Poor Lessons to the 
Front when the Revivalists Ar- 
rived. How Natural it Sounded 
when "Bird" "Thurlow Asked a 
Flippant Question * 

THEN the annual winter revival was 
announced. Upon this event the 
University centered all its prayers, 
its hopes, its attention, as the ban- 
ner event of the year. In the 
church papers where the advertisement of the 
University appeared, the annual revival was 
featured. Several of the students had been 
sent to the institution by their parents prin- 
cipally for the spiritual benefits that might come 
to them in the atmosphere of the revival. 

The whole air began to stir with the throb of 
revival preparation. A spiritual census of the 
students was taken, not officially or in any 
stereotyped way, and all the enginery of Chris- 
tian effort was brought to bear on creating 

[151] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

the right, psychological mood for the time 
the evangelists should arrive. The prayer 
bands wove in extra meetings and increased 
their unction. Neglected, after-supper prayer- 
services were suddenly filled. Bands of earnest, 
zealous men and women roamed from room to 
room holding spiritual inquisitions over "The 
Clamorous Eight" and any others who were 
thought to need special portions of grace. 

"I'm heartily in favor of Christian effort," I 
said to Jason, one day, when we were talking 
over the coming revival, "but take last year 
and think how many hours were lost to study 
and given to the meetings! I should think 
that those things might be left to camp-meetings 
and churches — there were three long revivals 
in the village last winter — and we ought to 
center our precious time on study!" 

Jason declared, emphatically and finally, 
"Brother Priddy, what are heads compared to 
souls?" 

"Oh, I don't object to any sort of efforts being 
indulged if people are to be made Christian, 
Jason, but according to what you said in the 
prayer-meeting last night, there are only three 
in the whole University who do not make any 
profession of religious faith: just three, and yet 
two whole weeks are to be set apart to the 
Evangelists who will come and preach the 'third- 
birth doctrine' and other dogmatic matters. 
That is what I protest against." 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

Again Jason answered with his inclusive, 
" Brother Priddy, what are heads compared 
to souls?" 

By the time the revivalists appeared it had 
been announced in the prayer-service that not 
one of the students stood "outside the Chris- 
tian fold." The revivalists had a clear chance, 
then, to preach the special doctrine of "the 
third birth," without any further parley. 

The revivalists were a man and his wife, 
both of them uneducated, whose chief claim 
to merit in their field lay in the fact that they 
were said to be "filled with the Spjrit." In 
spite of the bad grammar, the mixed figures of 
rhetoric, traces of demagogism, and an excess- 
ive ex cathedra tone, the revivalists were given 
full power in the meetings. All interests in 
pure scholarship were crowded aside. The 
valedictorian, the temperance orator who had 
won the interstate oratorical prize, the profes- 
sors, and the humble seeker after knowledge 
were subordinated to the zealot, the exhorter, 
the unctuous pleader. 

In morning chapel the time was generously 
lengthened to accommodate the doctrinal ex- 
hortations of the revivalist and his wife, who 
spake not so much of practical concerns, but 
entered into a bewildering maze of Scripture 
quibblings, text jugglings, super-rational con- 
clusions, and a daze of fantastic analogies. 
When the closing bell sounded, the speaker 

[1531 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

would turn to the President and say, familiarly 
— even commandingly, "Well, brother, studies 
can wait on the Lord, can't they?" and the 
President had nothing to say but, "Yes." The 
morning exhortations infringed on our nine 
o'clock classes so that often they had to be 
discontinued; much to the reluctance of the 
professors who had to bear the brunt of the 
intellectual disqualifications of students at grad- 
uation time. 

As the meetings continued, in the evenings, 
the enthusiasm increased. When emotions were 
running at flood the meetings were carried well 
into the night and Thropper and I often did not 
reach our room until eleven o'clock — with all 
opportunity for study taken away. But again 
the professors had to lose, for if any of us were 
backward with lessons the next morning, by say- 
ing, "Professor, I was at the meeting last night. 
I did not have any opportunity to study," a 
proper adjustment was made in our favor. For, 
as Jason had said, the theory at that time was, 
"What are heads compared to souls?" 

At the conclusion of the first Thursday 
evening's meeting, the revivalist and his wife 
let it be known that "At last God is blessing 
us ! " High tide had been reached. That meet- 
ing had been given into the hands of the stu- 
dents after the leader had preached for an hour 
on a doctrinal theme. A hymn was started by 
a young woman. She stood while she led the 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

singing and at the conclusion she still stood erect, 
with her eyes fixed on the ceiling. She had 
thrown herself into a trance and spoke in a 
jumble some words nobody could decipher but 
which were understood to be a "revelation." 
That was the signal for a wild demonstration. 
Jason leaped to his feet and after shouting, 
"God is with us! Emmanuel!" he sat shiver- 
ing in his seat as if his body were in the grasp 
of angry spirits. A group of young women 
paraded down the aisles and before the pulpit 
waving their handkerchiefs and shouting in 
shrill ecstasy. Suddenly one of the young men 
near me burst into lamentations and tears, 
moaning as if his heart would break. Mean- 
while the evangelists knelt at the front of the 
platform in prayer; praying for people by name. 
Then the young man who had been crying sud- 
denly darted to his feet and broke into a tor- 
rent of wild, hysterical laughter and ran to the 
upper end of the room clapping his hands. 
Hymns of different sorts and tunes had broken 
out in different parts of the room, making a 
musical Babel. The young woman who had 
had the trance came into consciousness again, 
and, on the urgence of the revivalists, ascended 
the platform from whence she described a vision 
fit to be framed in Miltonic verse. At eleven 
o'clock hands were joined, a hymn was sung, 
and after a benediction from "Pa" Borden, 
we went back to our rooms. 

[155] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

Then the revivalists with their honors full 
on them departed, and the emotional tension left 
us. It was a distinct relief, like a bit of bird's 
chatter after the epic storm, to hear "Bird" 
Thurlow shout across the walk, one morning, 
"Hey, Paddy, going to take Miss Adee to the 
lecture next Wednesday?" 



[156] 



Chapter XVII. My Presidential 
Pose and its Central Place in « "The 
Record" A Wistful Glance and 
Some Practical Plans towards 
Eastern Education. How the 
Little Sparrow Brought my Class 
Colors to me as I Gave the Class 
"Oration" Ends in a Fight 

IN the spring, when announcements of 
Commencement and Graduation were in 
the air, a gathering of four members of the 
collegiate department, as many members 
of the preparatory division, two business 
students, and five who could not be classified by 
reason of their slowness to master their studies, 
met in response to a call, sent out by the Seniors, 
for the members of the Freshmen Class to elect 
officers, and after due deliberation made me 
their president. 

With this honor thrust on me, I was immedi- 

[157] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

ately in a dilemma, for the main purpose of the 
class organization was to have each member's 
photograph in the Senior's "Record," a souvenir 
book of the University life. Had I been other 
than the president, I should not have fretted 
about my inability to afford a visit to the pic- 
ture gallery, but there I was: due to have my 
picture in the middle of the group. I was in 
despair until finally I thought of little Jack 
Borden, who owned a three-dollar camera. I 
told him my predicament and he consented to 
make a snap-shot of me for ten cents that should 
be fit to be in the center of a group of "gallery 
ones" as he termed those that the official pho- 
tographer would take. 

As Jack had no photographer's background, 
he snapped me with my back to the flowered 
wall paper, and when the finished picture was 
handed me, there I sat, outlined against a mass 
of conventional crocus leaves and a picture of 
"Pa" Borden hung on the wall above my head! 
I was told by one of "The Record" Committee 
that the picture would never be fit to reproduce 
with such a background: that it should be in 
relief against a plain one. I returned to my 
room in despair, but finally resolved to cut my 
picture out from the wall paper and paste it on 
a piece of plain, black pasteboard. After going 
over the outline with the scissors I finally suc- 
ceeded in accomplishing the feat and the picture 
went in the middle of the group, an undignified, 

[158] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

flat, ill-posed, and somewhat jagged outline of 
myself, most conspicuous as "the president." 

As the year drew to an end, and the students 
began to talk so emotionally of home and friends, 
I began to feel that I had been long enough in 
exile from my eastern home and friendships. 
I also began to wonder if now that I had learned 
the art of working a way through school I should 
not be more comfortable in Massachusetts. I 
had heard the graduating students talk of 
"Dartmouth" and "Boston University" and 
"Yale" and "Harvard," with a sort of worship- 
ful accent, not far short of reverence* One or 
two graduates in the past, so the local legend 
ran, had even attained to post-graduate work 
in Yale and Harvard! Therefore, as I heard 
this talk, listened to this semi-worship of New 
England education, and realized that it was my 
home, my own environment, I also asked my- 
self the question: "Why not go and complete 
your education in that atmosphere?" 

I mentioned this fact to Thropper. He said 
to me: 

"I have often wondered, Priddy, why you 
came away out here for your education when 
you have such good schools in New England. 
I should think you'd be able to work your way 
along out there and get some mighty fine chances. 
I just wish I had been an Easterner!" 

"I've a good mind to go East when school 
closes, Thropper, and try. I must confess I 

[159] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

feel lonesome, homesick out here. I miss the 
ocean and the hills. I can't help it. I suppose 
I run the risk of not getting to school next year, 
though, if I break off now!" 

"Not if you're willing to work as you have," 
said Thropper. "Though I'd hate to have you 
go. I thought you might be my right hand 
man when I marry, next fall!" 

"Marry?" 

"Yes, in September. Oh, you'll get an invi- 
tation even if you won't be able to attend, 
Priddy," he added, solemnly, "I wouldn't try 
to keep you from going East even with my 
wedding. Try it, old fellow, You owe it to 
yourself, now that you've got such a good start 
here. This place doesn't pretend to be in com- 
petition with the big Eastern institutions. 
Evangelical University is concerned mostly with 
giving a fellow a start towards them. The fac- 
ulty would be only too glad to have you leave 
here, if they knew you were going to stick to 
your education in the East." 

"I'll do it, Thropper!" I replied. 

The busy season of Commencement was 
ushered in : a busy time even for those of us who 
were far, very far from graduation. My "class " 
voted that I represent them with an oration on 
"Class Day." No classic, intellectual, or sen- 
timental event was Class Day at Evangelical 
University, but, rather, a Western outflow of 
burlesque and banter. Every day for a week I 

[160] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

practised my "oration" in the attic of the Uni- 
versity building. In this speech I had put, as 
all previous Class Day orators had made a prac- 
tise of putting, puns, alliterations, pompous 
passages, personalities, and much bathos. I 
tried to perfect myself in its delivery, not know- 
ing just what experiences I should encounter on 
the day I should speak it. 

A wild, untamed, yelling, crowding procession 
filled the chapel hall, each class in a section by 
itself and the "orators" seated on the platform. 

It came my turn. I stepped to the front and 
raised my hand for the first word when sud- 
denly the class next above mine yelled, poked up 
slang signs, and then from the square venti- 
lator hole high above my head darted a sparrow 
with a trailing streamer of our class ribbon 
fluttering from its tail. At every sentence, 
nearly every word, I had to pause on account 
of the yellings, the banter, and the interruptions 
caused by flying hats and scudding pieces of 
pasteboard. After about a half hour of disci- 
plined posing, I finally concluded the "oration" 
amid the admiring plaudits of my class. Thus 
orator followed orator, each one outdoing the 
other with satire, pun, and rhetorical nonsense. 
To the accompaniment of a thudding fight which 
was taking place between the representatives of 
two classes over our heads where the bird had 
been sent down, Class Day came to an end, and 
my active life at Evangelical University likewise. 

[161] 



Chapter XVI I L Thropper Un- 
folds Something Better than 
Canned Foods. A Lesson with 
the Flat Iron. Thropper Proposes 
that I Chaperone Horses 

OW are you going to get back to 
Massachusetts, Priddy?" asked 
Thropper when I was shuffling 
some photographs which I had 
taken down from a wire rack on 
the wall. 

"Oh, I'll have to try to get work in a fac- 
tory or on a farm about here," I answered, 
"until I earn my fare!" 

"Have you any definite work planned for, 

yet?" 

"No, but I thought I'd go out this afternoon 
and see what I might pick up. I could keep 
this room and board myself, Thropper." 
He made a wry face, and blurted out: 
"Warmed over canned beans, ugh!" 
"What do you mean, old fellow?" 

[162] 




THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Boarding yourself — canned soups, canned 
meats, canned everything — ugh!" 

"That's what your wife will feed you on — 
at first, while she learns to cook, Thropper," 
I laughed. "Perhaps you'll prefer canned 
things!" 

"Is that so?" he retorted, with some show of 
heat. "Well, that's all you know about things. 
She can cook already : you just wait till you taste 
some of her cooking. Canned things — ugh!" 

"Well," I sighed, "I've little choice!" 

"How would you like to spend the summer 
at a neat little hotel in Michigan?". 

"Thropper!" 

"And room in a little cottage in the midst 
of a little grove of pines, near little sandhills, 
among a little group of the finest fellows in the 
world — college students?" continued Throp- 
per, with a smile. 

"A little bit too much imagination in your 
little talk, my dear little fellow!" I retorted. 

"And go down to the beach every day for a 
bath among the big waves, and go boating and 
fishing; seeing the great crowds of excursion- 
ists and vacationists!" 

"Go on," I gasped, "have it out, Thropper, if 
you particularly enjoy the stunt!" 

"Food," continued my room-mate, "well, let 
me see: strawberry shortcake a la much, mut- 
ton chops with bacon a la juicy, calves' brains 
on toast a la delicious, hashed browned pota- 

[163] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

toes a la second helping, and for desserts: cream 
and jellies, sherberts and pies — " 

" — A la imagination, eh, Thropper," I inter- 
rupted. 

My room-mate's rugged face was overspread 
with a grin. He clapped me over the shoulder 
and said, continuing his whim: 

"To enjoy many beautiful, moon-lit hours, 
watching the glint of the phosphorescent waves 
as they twinkle like fairy lights over the broad 
expanse of Lake Michigan; to — " 

"Look out, Thropper," I exclaimed at this 
poetic outburst, "or you'll be crowding the 
spring poets out of a job!" 

"To roam at will through the shady groves, 
over the sand dunes, to hear the orchestral music, 
the light plash of the waves against the pier 
while you hold a fish-line in the water; to loll 
on the fragrant pine needles and read, muse, 
rest, and be inspired: what do you think of that 
for a program for the next three months, 
Priddy?" 

"Ask a Mohammedan what he thinks of Par- 
adise or an exiled Prince what he thinks of a 
Kingdom, Thropper?" 

"Then," continued Thropper, "the whole 
experience not to cost you a cent: rather you 
are to be paid at the rate of four dollars a week : 
wages for a treat like that, Priddy : what do you 
think of that?" 

"It is impossible for me to think about such 

[164] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

a prospect, Thropper, my imagination is in- 
toxicated!" 

"Then you will go!" 

I looked at Thropper as if he had parted with 
his senses. 

"What an actor you are, Thropper. One 
would imagine you serious in all this!" 

"Of course I'm serious!" he announced. "I 
am merely offering you the chance to go with 
Brock and myself to Macatawa, Michigan, to 
wait on table at one of the hotels there." 

"Oh!" 

"But all the things I have enumerated, 
Priddy, are facts and not dreams. The work 
is very easy: six hours a day; two hours a meal, 
with the interims filled with all sorts of good 
times. What do you say? Our railway fares 
and steamer passages will be sent and later 
will be deducted from our wages. Will you 
go?" 

"Do they let the waiters eat calves' brains on 
toast, Thropper?" I asked, seriously. 

"Extra orders which are not taken," he 
responded. 

"Of course I'll go, old fellow. It will be a 
wonderful chance, won't it?" 

"It will give you a good chance to get a rest, 
Priddy," he averred, solemnly. "Your poor, 
pinched body needs it!" 

"When do we leave?" 

"In two days; soon as Brock gets word to 

[165] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

the hotel that we are coming. I can lend you 
some collars and things till we get there." 

"The first month's wages are to go for 
clothes," I announced. "All aboard for Ma-cat- 
a-wa: last call for dinner!" I cried, and then 
Thropper and I, sharers of confidences and of 
dreams, linked arms and waltzed crazily around 
the room — for sheer joy. 

One week after having waltzed with Thropper 
over the creaky boards of the dormitory, I found 
myself adjusted to a new phase of existence, 
delicious and inspiring in its every aspect. 
After a lifetime spent in the midst of places 
where toil and only toil held the boards: after 
twenty years' vision of strenuous tasks done by 
those about me, in mills, shops, and on the 
street, at last I found myself in the midst of a 
place set apart to idleness: where the indolent 
were given the palm branch, and where work, 
for a wonder, found itself, even by honorable 
people, spurned as a thing out of place. 

The six hours' work a day put at my com- 
mand all the recreational advantages of the 
resort: the shapely sand dunes, the board- 
walks through cool, shaded pine groves, the 
smooth, sandy, slippery beach down which one 
walked past artists' studios, soap box shanties, 
and pretentious pillared cottages. And the 
water! We bathed by day and by night. In 
it we fished and raced. Over it we rowed in 
boats that were tossed like light corks from 

[166] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

engulfing wave to engulfing waves, while the 
life-boat man from the pier kept a sharp eye on 
our adventure. By its edge on a moon-light 
night we built a chain of fires and in the flames 
of them we roasted marshmallows, sang songs, 
and passed all sorts of banter. 

In the dining-hall I met my fellow waiters 
and waitresses: college students, all of them, 
from different parts of the country. The orches- 
tra, at dinner, played complimentary college 
tunes in our honor: our guests broke down all 
perfunctory relations and intimately entered 
into our ambitions. While waiting for the 
arrival of guests at breakfast the waiters stood 
under a wooden canopy in the hotel yard and 
ironed napkins and towels. Of course neither 
Thropper nor I were very expert in the laundry, 
but that did not excuse us from it. One day the 
Irishwoman, who was proprietor of the hotel, 
came and investigated the laundry. She paid 
particular attention to the manner in which I 
conducted the flat-iron over the towels. After 
watching me for some moments, during which, 
for a woman, she maintained a severe and ter- 
rible silence, during which perspiration poured 
down my face, she suddenly exploded with 
laughter and said: 

"Ah, ah! You should see Mister Priddy use 
his iron. It's a rale treat. He is that gentle 
on the cloths! I want you all to come around 
and take a lesson. You girls now," she indi- 

[167] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

cated some of the college girls, "have been doing 
it wrong all the time!" She laughed loudly, 
as they gathered about my board. 

Taking the iron gingerly in her massive, red, 
and scarred hand, the Irishwoman very gently 
tipped the back edge of it on a towel and delib- 
erately, though exactly, drew the iron backward 
several times, lifting it from the board to carry 
it forward. 

"That's the way Mr. Priddy says you ought 
to iron!" she shouted, her burly face reddening 
with merriment, as she noticed my chagrin. 
"It's backwards and not forwards that you 
should iron, all of ye ! " and then she sat down on 
a bench in the midst of a most industrious crowd 
of laughing boys and girls. After the fun, she 
took the iron in hand in an endeavor to show me 
the true, laundry method of using a flat-iron. 

All the tricks, the horse-plays, the trivial but 
welcome expressions of fun that crowd them- 
selves into a college life, were indulged at the 
hotel by the waiters and waitresses. A group 
of Michigan students lived in a long, loosely- 
built shanty in the yard, on the doors of which 
they had painted its name: "Lover's Roost," 
and the better to carry out the fancy of its 
being a roost, the boys were in the habit of 
receiving expected visitors, who came to inspect 
their quarters, perched on the upper beams, 
above the partitions, napping their hands and 
crowing like lusty, gigantic roosters! 

[168] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

The season rushed past in its merry whirl. 
Tired muscles relaxed, taut nerves slacked, 
weary bodies gained repose, there on the sand 
dunes, amid parties, fetes, musicales, and pic- 
nics. The first chill winds from the lake wafted 
hordes of people back to work, and soon left 
the hotel nearly unpeopled. 

As the day approached when I should have to 
leave, I found that I had saved but a trifle 
out of my earnings: the money had gone for a 
much-needed, but not expensive, ward-robe. I 
counted over my change and found that I did 
not have enough money left with which to 
purchase a ticket for so far away a place as 
Massachusetts. I mentioned the matter to 
Thropper. He, in turn, in that generous way 
of his, began to plan for me. One day he 
came and said: 

"Priddy, you know Gloomer, the fellow from 
Indiana State University; well, if you go down 
to Indianapolis with him, he'll see that you get 
a chance to go on a freight train as far as New 
York; from there you'll have enough to get 
home, won't you?" 

' Yes. A freight train, you say? As a tramp, 
riding on the axles?" I gasped, with an inward 
shudder at the thought of such a desperate ride. 

"Of course not!" declared Thropper. 
"You'd go in the caboose. We'd send you with 
a load of horses, you know. You'd be the man 
in charge; to feed them." 

[169] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"But I don't know anything about horses, 
Thropper." 

"You don't have to know anything about 
them," he said, with a smile. "It's just a tech- 
nical way of expressing it. You see, when the 
horse dealers send a carload of horses East, 
they are entitled to a representative to go 
along and take care of them. You'd be the 
representative. Gloomer could give you a line 
to an Indianapolis sales stable. They'd do the 
rest — as far as New York. What do you 
say!" 

In a wild moment of incautious self-confi- 
dence, I responded: 

"Anything to get to New York, Thropper." 

"It's settled, then," he responded. "Albert 
Priddy, horse chaperone, I salute thee," and he 
gravely saluted me. "When will his lordship 
occupy his caboose?" he went on in good- 
humored raillery. 

"As soon as I can get it!" I replied. 



[170] 



Chapter XIX. A Chapter 
W^hich Has to do with a Series of 
Exciting Affairs that Occurred 
between the TVest and the East, 
and JVhich are Better to Read 
about than to Endure 

THROPPER accompanied me to the 
wharf in Chicago where, so far as 
I was able to judge, we were to part 
forever. The manner of our part- 
ing was as follows: 
Thropper insisted on carrying my suit-case, 
though his own was loaded to excess. On cross- 
ing a street to enter the railroad station, I half 
stumbled, blunderingly, under the heavy hoofs 
of a dray horse which a swearing driver had 
pulled shortly into the air, when Thropper, by 
a lunge at my back with his heavy suit-case, 
startled me into such action, that I lurched 
ahead and away from danger. 

"Thanks, old fellow!" I called, above the 
roar of the traffic. 

[171] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

My train was announced, and as I gripped my 
suit-case, Thropper blurted out: 

"Well, Priddy, I wish you luck: plenty of 
it!" 

"Well," I stammered, in return, "you've 
certainly been good to me, Thropper. I shall 
never forget it!" 

"I shall miss you, Priddy!" 

"Maybe I shan't miss you, old fellow!" I 
said hoarsely, for I was on the verge of tears. 

"God bless you!" cried Thropper, with an 
effort. "God be with you!" 

"Make a man of yourself, old fellow!" I 
replied. 

One moment of profound, tearful silence, 
with our hands tightly clasped, and then I broke 
away and ran as fast as I could towards my 
train, pretending by that action that I might 
be in danger of losing my train, though my 
only intention was to be by myself, where, un- 
seen, I could baptize this parting from Thropper 
with unrestrained, heartfelt tears. 

The brick-paved and marvellously wide 
streets of Indianapolis were oppressively hot 
when I arrived in the city, with Gloomer's 
letter of introduction to the sales-stable man- 
ager in my possession. I had to spend two days 
in the city before a regular auction day arrived 
when it would be possible for me to make a 
contract with the manager. I had been told 
that the psychological time to approach the 

[172] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

horse-dealer would be at a sale when a carload 
or two of horses would be made up. 

During my wait, I had to harvest my cash 
diligently, for fear of getting stranded on the 
way. The four dollars in my pocket seemed 
indescribably trivial when measured against 
the gigantic journey I had between Indian- 
apolis and New York City. I went on a side 
street and searched among the cheaper lodging- 
houses until I found one whose red, illuminated 
sign told me that beds there were fifteen cents 
a night. I went in, talked with a wizened-faced 
tramp of a man, and was shown uj\ a flight of 
back stairs into a large, dirty-papered room, in 
which stood a wooden bedstead with dampish, 
musty coverings. As I slept that night, I was 
awakened by loud quarrelsome voices in the 
back kitchen, and from what I heard, I realized 
that I was sleeping in a thieves' lodging-house. 
After that, I found myself waking up in nervous 
fright every few minutes, expecting to see the 
door open while some villain entered with a knife 
or gun to strip me of what little I owned! It 
was a night of horror, of wakeful, excited, dread. 
I was afraid to sleep, and yet I kept waking, 
hour after hour, with the consciousness that I 
had given in to sleep, and had made it possible 
for some one to overpower me. Then early 
morning dawned, without any accident befalling 
me, and I seized upon an excuse to leave. I 
went downstairs very stealthily and confronted 

[173] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

three ragged, evil-faced men who were sitting on 
chairs, smoking with the landlord. I emptied a 
half dozen soiled collars on the table and said: 

"I haven't time to have these laundered, 
and don't need them. You may have them — 
if they fit. I wear fifteens. I have to leave 
early. Here is my lodging fee for the night. 
Good morning!" and without another word I 
rushed from the house, hoping that the men 
would imagine that my excitement was due to 
fear of losing a train rather than to any dread 
of them! 

The only sight-seeing I accomplished in 
Indianapolis came in a long walk I took past 
the freight yards, at the end of which I came to 
a tomato ketchup factory, where, for two hours, 
I watched a carload of ripe and otherwise 
tomatoes unloaded in barrows and carted into 
the store vats. Then I hurried back to the 
stables, for a sale was due for late afternoon, 
and my heart was centred entirely upon the 
hope of securing the ride to New York City. 

Guided by the snap of whips and the strident 
calls of the auctioneer, I entered a dim vault 
of a place, where the sale was in progress. After 
the glare of the sun had worn itself out of my 
eyes, I found myself on the outer edge of a large 
group of horse-dealers, watching the animals 
put through their paces and holding up fingers 
to the auctioneer. 

After the sales had been concluded, I ap- 

[174] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

proached a cubby-hole, which was filled with 
stale tobacco smoke through which I had a 
view of lithographs of race horses. The man- 
ager of the stables sat at his desk, apparently 
not busy, but eloquent in cigar smoke over the 
sales he had made that day. He had a blown, 
raw face, as red as his sunset shirt bosom and 
dotted with unshaved blotches of bristles. His 
thin nose had been turned aside by a blow of 
some sort, his mild blue eyes might not have 
been out of place in a woman's head. However, 
on seeing me hesitate, and probably knowing 
from my abject, petitioning manner, that I 
was after some favor, he flavored the air with 
an oath and tacked on an impatient demand as 
to my wants. I thereupon unfolded what was 
in my heart, and in the nervousness of the 
moment, instead of handing him Gloomer's 
letter of introduction, gave him, instead, my 
pocket comb. Then I thought he would horse- 
whip me, but, instead, he laughed, and said: 

"Well, you're a thoroughbred, ain't ye! 
What's this?" 

I thereupon exchanged the comb for the let- 
ter, which he took with some show of interest. 
After reading it he said: 

'Why, I'd ship you to Jericho, if I was send- 
ing hosses that fur, but only thing I can do's 
to send ye to Buffalo. You'll mebbe get an- 
other haul from there, though I can't say." 

I thought of the small amount of money in 

[175] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

my pocket, and of the distance at which I 
found myself from home, and then said: 

"I was told that you might be able to ship 
me to New York, sir. I need the lift. I have 
less than five dollars." 

"Sorry, kid," he muttered. "Buffalo's best 
thing in the ring for a week or more. Good day, 
sonny ! " 

"But I'll take the chance to Buffalo," I 
gasped, fearful that he would turn me off en- 
tirely. "I'll be very thankful for that much 
of a ride, sir." 

He opened a drawer and wrote several items 
on a yellow way bill which he handed to me. 

"Shove that in yer pocket and skedaddle, 
sonny," he said. "I wish yer joy in yer edu- 
cation, though I don't in hang know what ye'U 
do with it when yer got it; plant corn, in all 
likelihood. S'long! Train leaves at half -past 
six: freight yard. Numbers of the cars on the 
pass! 

At six o'clock I appeared in the terminal 
freight yards with a bag of three-cent egg sand- 
wiches under one arm and with my slate-colored 
suit case bumping against my shins. It was 
not until I reached the yards and beheld the 
illimitable maze of tracks and the innumerable 
dragon-like trains of freight cars and the hive 
of busy, shifting engines that were making up 
trains, that I realized how wise I had been by 
coming a half hour early. I asked a switch- 

[ 1^6 ] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

man where I should find the freight which left 
for Buffalo at half-past six. Then I realized 
still more acutely that my difficulties were only 
begun, for after he had whirled the lever over 
and allowed the section of shunted cars to rattle 
past, he turned to me and with a very decided 
and pugilistic gesture, asked me if I would 
not immediately consign myself and all my 
ancestors to a very negative theological place. 
I stumbled over the switches and as I went 
felt the hot, resentful glare of the railroad crews, 
as they refused me the information I sought 
and spiced their refusals with peppery idioms. 
They would have buffeted me had I not been 
armed by the pass. Finally, knowing that I 
was in danger of losing my train, I entered the 
switch-house and after I had gulped a stomach- 
ful of pipe-smoke, one of the men told me that 
I should find the train if I would look for the 
numbers of the cars which were written on the 
pass. So I went out in the dim twilight and 
tried to match numbers, which to my startled, 
nervous imagination looked like 5467990099- 
3259 and 563780533255555555573275, but which, 
in reality, were an inch or two shorter! Finally 
I found the two numbers, and then I eagerly 
ran down the length of the train until I came to 
the caboose. I climbed up the steps, opened 
the dusty door and was immediately greeted 
by the angry gaze of the conductor and brake- 
men who were busy with some sort of schedules. 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

As I humbly presented my pass to the con- 
ductor, and when it was made known to the 
crew that I was to be their guest in the com- 
fortable caboose, they immediately gave me a 
lurid and explicit welcome: one that made me 
shiver. Genealogical connections of a hitherto 
unknown nature were ascribed to me; to them I 
appeared as one of the brood of imps from that 
negative theological place, and various exciting 
and blood-bringing adjectives were loaded on 
me that made my flesh quiver. The conduc- 
tor, after generously and minutely explaining 
how undesirable was my presence in that ca- 
boose, going into the minutest details of my 
personal limitations, sent me, shuddering, over 
to the opposite side of the car, as far away as 
possible from his presence, where I found a 
padded window seat which was to be my bed 
overnight. 

When the train started, and the crew were 
sitting around with nothing to do, I tried to 
enter into conversation with one of them. But 
I was persona non grata; of a different caste, I 
was told to "hang my lip on the clothes-hook," 
a grewsome feat and quite a poetic conception. 
The window, a little square one, was high above 
my head. I stood on the seat in the attempt 
to look through it into the night. Immedia- 
ately I was told to "switch off." Then I made 
myself comfortable for the night by spreading 
myself at full length on the seat. After a time, 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

the fumes of the lamp drugged me into a doze, 
and then the thunder of the freight and the dull, 
dull rumble of the train crew's voices sent me 
off into a fretful, but long sleep. In the 
morning, when I opened my eyes, and looked 
out of the back door window, we were passing 
stations in Ohio. The morning was very 
pleasant, and thinking that a whole night of 
my presence might have made the train crew 
tolerant, I ascended into the lookout, above 
the roof of the caboose, where, from the 
cushioned seat, I could make a splendid observa- 
tion of country through which we were passing. 
But my joy was short-lived. Immediately the 
thunders of the conductor called me down and 
I was sternly ordered to "sit down where you 
belong," a command which was followed by 
a descriptive phrase which linked me to a low 
and disreputable order of creation. 

By nine o'clock we brought up in the Cleve- 
land yards, where a new caboose and a new 
train were to be fastened to the freight. I 
was told to "grab" my belongings and "git the- 
twelfth-letter-of-the-alphabet out of this!" 
which I did, and found, when I got to the ground, 
that the freight train had gone off and left the 
caboose standing in the yard. Then I went on 
a frightful, heart-thumping search for the two 
cars with the long numbers on them: not spend- 
ing any time to be rebuffed by the yard men. 
I leaped from track to track and searched car 

[179] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

after car until, at last, I found the numbers I 
wanted, and by following out the length of the 
train, came to the new caboose. 

In this second caboose I resolved not to irri- 
tate the crew, and to this end I made myself 
comfortable in my allotted place, took off my 
boots, put on a pair of tennis shoes, and read a 
book I had in my suit-case. When the train 
finally entered the Buffalo freight yards I was 
hurried out, as the conductor wanted to lock 
the caboose without the loss of a minute. When 
I got to the ground, in my hurry, and after the 
conductor had locked the door and left me 
standing dazed, I found that I had left my 
shoes in the caboose. But no amount of search 
for the conductor succeeded, and finally one of 
the railroad men told me that I might as well 
give up the search, especially as the caboose 
had been whirled out of sight by a switching 
engine. So I went into the city with my suit- 
case and ,my lean purse, determined to visit 
the sales stables and stock-yards, until I should 
find a chance to ride on to New York City. I 
realized that if I should ever arrive in New 
York I should not have enough money to carry 
me home, but I followed a blind instinct which 
seemed to tell me that, New York attained, 
"something would turn up." 

In one of the back streets of Buffalo I found 
a Temperance Hotel, where beds and rooms 
were fifteen cents a day. The hotel had in its 

[180] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

frowsy lobby a group of unkempt men who 
seemed to be temperate in one thing more 
strikingly than another, — work, for during 
any part of the day I found them there tipped 
back in the chairs holding their conferences on 
momentous matters. I left my umbrella with 
the clerk for collateral, and told him that fur- 
ther security for my board would be my suit- 
case which was certainly worth thirty-five 
cents. I had a good thirty-cent dinner in the 
dining-room, and then went out to visit the 
stock yards of the city. 

When I saw the multitude of cattle pens, 
near the railroad, and saw them filled with 
sheep and cattle, I estimated that in them alone 
were two hundred and fifty possible trips to 
the end of the world; but when I entered the 
lobby of the Stockman's Hotel and tried to get 
the influence of the cattle-buyers towards a 
pass, they would have nothing to do with me. 
Thus rebuffed, I went the rounds of the sales 
stables, of which there were many facing the 
stock pens. In these I was told there were 
no sales on just then, but that if anything turned 
up they would see what they could do. That 
gave me hope, so I said that I would call on 
them during the next day. 

During this wait I found that my money was 
nearly gone. I had fifty cents on hand for 
board. I asked a disreputable fellow, near 
the Temperance Hotel, where I could get some 

[181] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

cheap meals. He pointed to the next street 
and told me that they had three-cent meals in 
some of the eating houses there. That evening 
I indulged in a three-cent supper. It con- 
sisted of a dish of beans, a slice of bread, some 
"butter" and a cup of coffee. I went to the 
same place for breakfast the next morning and 
for three cents secured a cup of coffee, a dough- 
nut, and a dish of stew. That morning a heavy 
rain began to fall, and, for the first time, I began 
to miss the shoes I had left in the caboose. I had 
on a suit of good clothes, so that the worn tennis 
shoes on my feet were all the more startling; but 
when the streets were filled with running brooks 
of rain through which I was forced to walk, 
it was not merely a matter of appearance with 
me, but a matter of comfort. On my way to 
the stock-yards to see what the sales stables 
could do for me, my feet were uncomfortably 
soaked to the skin. The canvas tops of the 
shoes were like mops. Every step I took on 
the sidewalk was the cause of a soggy, mop- 
pish slop. I expected the first policeman to 
arrest me as a suspicious character. 

I went from stable to stable, and at each one 
asked in a tremulous voice if they were about 
to send any horses to New York or Boston in 
the near future, but neither sales nor shipments 
were being made. I tried to interest some of 
the stock-drovers in the cattle yards in my 
affairs, but evidently I bored them. I paid 

[ 182 ] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

another, desperate visit to the Stockman's 
Hotel, but the cattle buyers would not give me 
a word of encouragement towards a pass to 
New York City. 

After this I returned to the heart of the city 
and began to plan against absolute starvation. 
Even with three-cent meals I could not have 
a much longer time to eat unless I obtained some 
more money. Then I felt the bulge of my 
nickel-plated watch, in my vest pocket. I had 
paid a dollar for it and had used it for two 
years. It had been purchased second-hand 
from a mill friend and had originally cost 
not more than three dollars. I hurried to a 
pawn-broker's shop and said, eagerly, as I 
handed the shopman the weighty time-piece: 

"You can have this at your own price — I 
don't care how much you offer. I need the 
money!" 

He tossed the watch in the palm of his hand, 
then laughed, and as he handed it back to me 
he said, impatiently: 

"G'wan! It ain't wuth a flea! I wouldn't 
buy dat t'ing fer junk! Git!" 

Disconsolately I passed out, with the shop- 
man's scornful eyes on me, and the gaze of a 
burly negro and his wife following me. I had 
no sooner reached the sidewalk, however, than 
the negro came out and said: 

"Say, how much yo' want fo' dat watch?" 

The negro's wife appeared, and from their 

[183] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

excessive interest in the watch I knew that they 
would purchase it if I should put out an entic- 
ing price. I cogitated in my mind as to how 
much I might have to pay for a pair of second- 
hand shoes, and then said: 

"Fifty cents! Keeps good time, too, see!" 
The negro took the watch in his hand, and 
evidently it was the enormous size of it rather 
than its efficiency as a time-keeper that inter- 
ested him, for he spent more time gazing on its 
back than he did in contemplating its works. 
He thrust his hand into his pockets and gave 
me a fifty cent piece which, just then, looked 
as round and golden as a harvest moon, but 
more tangible. 

I hurried from the negro as swiftly as I could 
in fear that he might repent and ask for a 
return of the precious coin. I hastened down a 
side street, made a spiral through a maze of 
streets, and then felt that the half dollar be- 
longed to me. I next began a search for a 
pair of shoes. There were rows of them in a 
Jewish cobbler's window, so I went in. The 
Jewish woman, who was in charge, in the ab- 
sence of her husband, asked me what size I 
wanted, and then pulled out for my inspection 
a pair of iron-clads that would not have been 
amiss on the feet of Ulysses when he started out 
on his wearing travels, and they surely would 
have lasted him through all his strenuous ad- 
ventures. 

[184] 




Say, How Much Yo' Want fo' dat Watch 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Fifty-four cents!" announced the woman. 

I told her that I could not spend a cent more 
than fifty for foot-wear else I should have to 
go without supper, and that wet feet were more 
comfortable than an empty stomach. 

We then entered upon an oriental haggling 
during which I found it imperative to credit 
myself with every virtue of honesty and candid- 
ness, and during which she called on every 
prophet to witness that the shoes should not 
go for a cent less than fifty-four. I held up my 
soggy tennis shoes and tapped them on the 
floor so that their miserable splash should strike 
a compassionate chill in her hard heart. I 
told her my lifetime's history; gave her a most 
pathetic list of my adventures; descanted with 
fervor on the unkindness of men towards one 
who was trying to make his way, and then the 
shoes were mine! 

I had to learn to walk over again when the 
dry shoes were on. I half stumbled at first 
with the weight, but I felt that at last I could 
go on the main street of the city and pass 
among respectable people without having harsh 
comments made. 

After my three-cent supper, I hurried to a 
church where a prayer-meeting was in progress. 
After the meeting I made a confidant of the 
minister, who took me before a group of men; 
the total result of which was that they lent me 
ten dollars on a note which I later paid, or 

[185] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

tried to pay, but they refused to accept the 
money and sent me back my note. A scalper's 
ticket to New York City took nearly all of the 
ten dollars. I returned to the "hotel" where 
I sold my umbrella and out of the proceeds paid 
my room rent and bade good-bye to the men 
who lounged there. The New York train which 
I had to take did not leave Buffalo until two 
o'clock in the morning. As I went through the 
quiet streets, the scavengers were out, with 
bags on their shoulders, fingering the refuse 
barrels that lined the curbs in front of hotels 
and eating-houses. It was a glimpse of pov- 
erty that made me shudder, and which by com- 
parison made me feel quite aristocratic. 

The conductor accepted my scalper's ticket 
without comment, though he might have put 
me off the train on the least suspicion. I took 
off my heavy shoes, leaned back in the seat and 
fell asleep without a care to distract me while 
the express hummed smoothly through the 
night. 

As soon as the train arrived in the New York 
station I had to hurry across the city to the 
steamboat wharves in time to board the Provi- 
dence steamer for the dollar ride into the Fall 
River zone. Though I had never been in the 
metropolis before, and though I stood for a 
thrilling moment in the very midst of its won- 
ders, impelling poverty drove me across the city 
like a slave-master's whip, and I boarded the 

[186] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

steamer with merely an impressionistic glance of 
some ferry -houses, some wholesale fruit houses, 
a dilapidated horse-car, some street corner block- 
ades, a whiff of Hester street, and the East 
River bridges. After a night in the forward 
part of the boat, sleeping in a berth which might 
have been the confines of a barrel, while a 
drunken man next to me kept up a periodic, 
loose-mouthed protest to a man in the upper 
berth that he wished he wouldn't snore so loud 
and keep everybody awake, I was put ashore 
in Providence. From there I was taken by 
trolley into Massachusetts and home. When 
I arrived in New Bedford I had thirty-five 
cents remaining in my pocket. But I was 
home ! And ready for the next step in my edu- 
cation, whatever that should be. 



[187] 



Chapter XX. Aunt Millie's In- 
terpretation of Education. "The 
Right Sort of an Adviser Gets 
Hold of me 

1 HURRIED — with a feeling of pride — in 
the direction of the tenement where my 
aunt and uncle were living. It was nearly 
noon. I would surprise my aunt! I 
knocked on the door. My Aunt Millie 
stood before me. 

"Hello!" I cried. "How are you?" 
She gazed on me with evident surprise, and 
with a mixture of suspicion, which she put in 
her first words: 

"I thought you were out getting made into 
a gentleman — at one of those schools?" 

"Why, aunt, I've had two years of educa- 
tion — so far. I mean to have more." 
"But where's that fortune you've made?" 
I gasped. 

"Fortune? I've only got thirty-five cents 
and I'm in debt for that!" 

"It's a failure, then?" she asked, maliciously. 

[188] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Of course it isn't a failure!" I insisted, des- 
perately. "Two years of it have helped me 
very much. I mean to get more of it, aunt!" 

"But you look poorly dressed, and you tell 
me that you're poorer than the day you went. 
I always thought education meant getting along 
in life!" 

"It does mean getting along in life," I argued, 
"but not necessarily getting along in money — 
or even good clothes. It has to do with the 
mind — with the thinking powers — eh — " 

She burst into mocking laughter and said: 

"Oh, that's it? Then maybe you'll not be 
needing bed and board now that you've had two 
years of education, — is that the state of things? " 

"Oh, you don't understand, aunt. Of course 
you can't do much in the world with only two 
years of it. It needs several years of it before 
you can really get a position in which money or 
prestige may be made. I'm only just on the 
way: in the first stages." 

"Then why aren't you in it? What have 
you come back to us for? I suppose you are 
short of money and want us to help you along 
in your brainless undertaking, eh?" 

"Have I asked a cent from you during the 
last two years, aunt?" I asked with some show 
of spirit. "Haven't I earned my own living 
even when I have been at home? Is it likely 
that I'll ask you to help me through now?" 

"It wouldn't do any good if you were to ask 

[189] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

us," she said, firmly. "We have debts enough 
in the house now to drive us to distraction." 

"Of course," I said, "it will be some weeks, 
probably, before I can shape my plans. You 
will let me stay here?" 

"There," she sniffed, "he's coming the soft 
soap act on, now! I thought you had some- 
thing up your sleeve. So you want me to board 
you free of charge for some weeks, eh, while 
you lord it around without working?" 

"I shall have to plan just what to do next!" 
I announced, feeling that this last touch to my 
already heavy load would break me. "That's 
all. I shall be going off to some sort of a school 
if it's possible." 

"Two days free: that's as long as you can 
stop without board," she announced. "I never 
was for this hair-brained business. It's taken 
your earnings away. After two days you must 
pay board." 

I knew it was fruitless to argue with her any 
further and I longed for the noon to arrive when 
I could have Uncle Stanwood's more comfort- 
ing greetings. 

My uncle came in and was extremely pleased 
to greet me, and my return so unexpectedly 
considerably upset him. 

"Two years of learning, steady," he com- 
mented. "That's good. You are the first 
Priddy to get such a chance. Make the most of 
it. Two years is a good beginning. I can no- 

[190] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

tice a difference in your speech and your man- 
ner already. Keep on, Al!" 

"His learning hasn't given him any silk shirts 
or gold-headed canes, has it?" scoffed my 
Aunt Millie. 

"Don't heap it on the lad," chided my uncle, 
"it's taken a lot of courage and perhaps suffer- 
ing for him to get through as he has. We 
haven't done anything towards it, Millie; so 
we shouldn't have much to say!" 

Then my uncle asked a perfectly natural and 
innocent question. 

"What are you aiming to be, Al, when you're 
through with the schools?" 

Tremblingly I whispered: 

"A preacher, I think!" 

If the world had cracked or the moon had 
leaped into the middle of our kitchen, my aunt 
could not have been more startled than she 
appeared to be at that announcement. She 
instantly rallied her powers of ridicule and 
sarcasm and indulged in the following mono- 
logue that had little savor of love in it: 

"Oh, oh! That's the lay of the land, is it? 
A parson! A Priddy a parson! A fawning, 
hypocritical parson! A tea-drinking, smirking 
thing in black. Why, at least, didn't he chose 
to be a lawyer or a doctor or something worth 
while? I thought he had brains!" 

"Millie!" thundered uncle. "Shut up! Do 
you want to crush the lad?" 

[191] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

But she was not to be stopped. She grew 
almost hysterical in her tirade. 

"I suppose he'll be hurling his sermons at 
us, so sanctimonious and pious!" 

"Hush, aunt, please," I pleaded, "don't 
shout so loud, people will hear and wonder what's 
wrong!" 

"There," she went on with a dry laugh, 
"just hear that low voice: it's just the voice for 
a parson!" Then she posed before me in dread- 
ful mimicry, with her finger tips touching in 
front of her and an affected, upward cast in 
her eyes, while she cried, ingratiatingly: 

"'Be good, be very, very good, my dears! 
Do right like me and get to heaven ! ' ' and then 
releasing herself from this display she suddenly 
roared, "You old hypocrite, you! The idea, 
you a parson!" 

"God knows," muttered uncle, "it is to be 
wondered how a lad brought up with us could 
ever turn his eyes in that direction!" 

At that my Aunt Millie cast on her husband 
a frown and said, snappishly: 

"Aye, you old sinner. Your conscience is 
working now. No wonder you talk like that!" 

During the dinner, while my aunt was in the 
pantry, uncle bent towards me and whispered: 

"Come out with me after dinner, Al. We'll 
talk there!" 

At half -past twelve we left the house together 
and sat down on some logs on an empty lot 

[192] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

near the mill where uncle said, after I had 
recounted to him my two years' experiences: 

"But what can you do now? It seems that 
you have cut yourself off from everything by 
leaving that school. You have nothing to go 
to now!" 

"Oh," I replied, "there are scores of places 
that I might go to in the East here, if I only 
knew where to look. Rather than be idle, I 
might go to the local high school and work dur- 
ing the spare time for my board and clothes. 
Then there are free academies and preparatory 
schools where I might get a change. I will 
begin to look around. Mr. Woodward,- the 
minister, might know of some things. I mean 
to see him this afternoon. I shall try to keep 
on with my studies somehow." 

"Why don't you go into the mill for awhile 
and then get some money by you, Al. It would 
make it easier for you?" 

"But I can't spare the time, uncle. I ought 
to keep right in with an unbroken school career. 
It can be done if only the right place be found. 
I am all at sea, just now, but I shall inquire. 
I know I shall find something." 

We talked until the one o'clock whistle 
sounded, and then I went in the direction of the 
minister's house to consult with him concern- 
ing my future. 

Mr. Woodward was minister over a little 
church of mill people, one of those underpaid 

[193] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

men who not only preach faith but express it 
in many kindly but unheralded services to soci- 
ety. He obtained congenial work for over- 
worked factory girls, sent tired mothers into the 
country in the summer season, sent invalids to 
hospitals, inspired mill lads in self -culture, and 
kept his own busy mind furnished with the 
latest and most scholarly information in social 
science and theology. 

When I rang his door-bell my heart nearly 
failed me with the thought that as he had never 
had the privilege of attending a college or a 
theological seminary, he might be unable to 
give me any advice on my immediate problem. 

But after we had sat in his study for an hour, 
and he had sounded me on my past experiences, 
and when I had concluded with a very pessi- 
mistic exclamation, 

"But I guess I've thrown away my chance 
by leaving Evangelical University, Mr. Wood- 
ward. I don't know what took possession of 
me, I'm sure. It was such a whim, especially 
when I was doing so well out there!" 

The big Scotchman stood up, laid his heavy 
hand on my shoulder and exclaimed, 

"Albert, I think I see you continuing the 
fight from now on, if I can possibly do any- 
thing. You must have courage and faith; 
they are more to you than money." He swept 
his hand across his eyes as if to sweep back the 
years and said, reminiscently, 

[194] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

" Oh, if I'd had your chance, lad ! You don't 
know what it cost me to lose my chance! 
Listen!" He then recounted to me his own 
experience in search of an education and 
unfolded dramatic incident after dramatic inci- 
dent for my encouragement. He showed me 
himself by a peat-bog fire, in the north of Ire- 
land, amidst poverty, struggling with his few 
books. He showed me himself, an immigrant 
landing in New England, where he began to 
work in the flare of a furnace. Next he showed 
me how his chance for going to college had 
been cut off by his marriage. That was fol- 
lowed by the picture of him, sitting in a room 
through the day learning Greek and theology, 
while his wife went into the mill to earn the 
money for rent and clothes and books. The 
memory of those severe struggles which had 
cost nerve and health brought tears swimming 
into his kindly eyes. He said, in conclusion, 

'Why, if I were in your place, lad, I'd black 
boots to get to a college, I would. Don't lose 
a day. I know a theological seminary in high 
standing where you can get as good a training 
for the ministry as may be secured anywhere 
in the United States, where your mind will 
awaken and where you may not feel ashamed 
after graduating from it. From there you can 
go to a college, entering the Junior year. That 
will mean five years more, Albert, five years of 
blessed privilege, which I shall envy you, lad!" 

[195] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"But I have no money, and it must cost 
money to enter the theological seminary," I 
insisted. "I should have to get there, and there 
would occur several expenses for books and 
things when I get there." 

"I can get fifty dollars for you on a note, 
which I will secure. Trust me," replied Mr. 
Woodward. "I mean that you shall go ahead. 
The world can't afford to let one of its ambi- 
tious lads slip up. It's not good economy. 
Fifty dollars will start you off. The expenses 
at the seminary are trivial. There will occur 
opportunities for self-help. In the summer 
you may get a church. Come to me tomorrow 
afternoon. I'll get busy with the telephone and 
telegraph right away. The Seminary opens 
this week. Come tomorrow, lad, and I hope 
to have good news for you. I feel that you've 
got your chance!" 

As I left him standing at the door, gazing 
after me, I hurried home whistling; thinking, 
too, what an overturn of emotion can occur in 
a single day. 



[196] 



Chapter XXL Over the Sea to 
a New Educational Chance. How 
I Revenged Myself on the Hungry 
Days. The Cloistered Serenity 
of the New Place % 

THE following afternoon when I ar- 
rived at Mr. Woodward's house, I 
found a young man with him, whom 
he introduced as Mr. Blake, a Con- 
gregational minister from a nearby 
town, whom he had invited in to talk to me 
about the Seminary. 

"Mr. Blake graduated there a few years ago 

and can tell you all about it," added my friend. 

"Had you better not show him the telegram 

you have from the President of the Seminary?" 

suggested the young man. 

Mr. Woodward smiled, and showed me a 
telegram which read, 

"Send the young man at once!" and bore 
the signature of the Seminary President. 

Then Mr. Woodward put his hand into his 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

pocket and brought out from thence a cluster 
of crinkling bills. 

"Hold your hand, Albert," he smiled. "It's 
money!" 

He counted into my hand fifty dollars and 
said, 

"If you are energetic, this is all the money 
you will have to borrow for awhile. I am glad 
for you, my lad. Now I have to attend a fu- 
neral. You go out for a walk with Mr. Blake 
and come back with him in time for supper. 
We're to have an informal celebration together." 

I led Mr. Blake to the Point Road, the pen- 
insula which juts out like a forefinger from the 
south end of New Bedford into Buzzard's Bay. 
We walked along the grassy foot-path, near the 
low wall, past the shimmering sea, the flying, 
croaking gulls, and a parade of scallop boats. 
My companion had a very ambitious mous- 
tache which was trying hard to mature, and he 
had a trick of unconsciously aiding the ends by 
pulling them as he talked. While he interjected 
theological shop talk, and had a long disserta- 
tion on Textual Criticism versus Literal Inspi- 
ration, when he found that I had been in 
such a conservative theological atmosphere as 
Evangelical University, and though he prattled 
familiarly the names of Renan, Weissmann, 
Schleiermacher, and Ritschl, I found inspira- 
tion in the man himself, for I kept thinking to 
myself on that walk, "He has attained to what 

[198J 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

you are after." We came to a grove of spruces 
that had grown on the edge of some rocks by 
the side of the road. Here, a quartet of blue- 
bloused Chinamen were celebrating some sort 
of a holiday by playing strident tunes on queer 
pipes and tom-toms, joining in with their fal- 
setto voices. Mr. Blake and I found a secure 
place on some ledges, from which we could throw 
pebbles at the white gulls that walked up and 
down the beach in lady -like fashion. 

When we returned, at the supper hour, we 
sat down with Mr. Woodward at the table, 
where both men set my head to whiriing by the 
confidence with which they recounted my future 
enjoyment of the Seminary. Had it not been 
for the crumpled fifty dollars in my pocket, 
the entire experience would have had the shape 
of a dream, for only two days before I had stood 
before my critical aunt with no plans and with 
thirty-five cents for my fortune. My freight 
ride and Buffalo experience seemed years back, 
in a dim haze. 

On arriving home, I pulled out the fifty dol- 
lars and showed the amount to my aunt and 
uncle. 

"Where did you get all that?" gasped my 
uncle. 

"Borrowed it," I replied. "I go to a theo- 
logical seminary in two days." 

My aunt wanted to know what sort of a lu- 
natic I was to borrow money on which to get an 

[199] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

education. Her theory yet remained, that only 
those with large fortunes were entitled to an 
education. 

But from the shining eyes of my uncle, I 
gathered that he felt glad over my prospects, 
as I unfolded them to him. 

Two evenings later I sat on the hurricane 
deck of a steamer that was to carry me to the 
Seminary city. I watched the golden dome of 
• the State House dwindle to the size of a 
noonday sun. I watched the waves from 
our paddles wash the edges of innumerable 
islands. We passed the lighthouses: huge 
warning fingers flashing their diamond lights. 
Our bow foam swirled over the low-lying decks 
of loaded coasters. Then we entered the silences 
of the ocean : even the sun left us and we swirled 
into night. The dismal echoes of bending bell- 
buoys reached our ears out of the darkness. 
The chilly, night wind threatened us with influ- 
enza, so we hurried into the cabins where, 
under bright lights, people were chatting, 
and where, in a far corner, a musician was tick- 
ling the popular tune from the piano: 

" All the Stars in the Sky, Dear, Speak through the Night of You-u-u ! " 

When the glistening negro, in spotless white, 
rushed through the cabin, waving a pink- 
bordered towel and muttering to the ceiling or 
to the thick carpet, as if it were no concern of 
his, that this was "the last call for dinner," I 

[200] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

felt that I would adventure into the consider- 
able menu a dollar would bring me, if for noth- 
ing else but to atone for those hungry days 
of three-cent meals in Indianapolis and Buffalo ! 

The next morning the steamer was poking 
its prow insistently through the sea and through 
a drizzling rainstorm. We were near land again 
and passed bleak islands hardly bigger than a 
man's hand on which were exiled lonesome, 
bleating sheep. Then we left the bays back of 
us and entered the mouth of a river roadway 
whose banks were lined with golden foliage. 
We passed a grim, grey fort and then stopped 
at a quiet town whose roofs were buried in tall 
trees, which in turn were topped by the spires 
of two old-fashioned churches which seemed to 
be telling the townspeople in which direction 
God was to be found. The river roadway 
deepened and narrowed and twisted as we 
ascended it. Then we left the autumn beauties 
of tree and shrub and passed between ice-houses, 
factories, and tenements until a bridge marked 
the limits of navigation and we were put ashore 
in the Seminary city. 

The steamboat wharf was the front porch to 
a large city which began at the summit of a 
hill to the south, crowded the hillside, wandered 
into the valley, and ascended another hill and 
continued on it as far as the eye could reach. I 
walked over the cobbled street in front of the 
wharf shed, made my way past long rows of 

[201] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

cordage and commercial houses, and came out 
into a triangular market-place, shut in by low- 
set brick and wooden houses, cheap hotels, 
fruit, fish, and sailors' clothing stores. The 
market-place was thronged with wagons and 
stalls. In one section the hay wagons were 
massed and over them groups of stablemen and 
citizens argued until load after load had been 
sold. In another section, with their backs 
forming an aisle through which I walked, were 
the butcher-carts offering roasts, strings of sau- 
sage, coral strings of frankfurts, and whole sides 
of pork. Back of them were the vegetable carts 
with loads of squashes fresh from the fields and 
heaps of greens. After walking through this 
noisy market, I came to the main business 
street of the city, lined with stores and hum- 
ming with cars. Then I walked up a hill past 
residences and dying grass lawns, until, in a 
triangular fence which followed the parting of 
two streets, I had my first view of the theolog- 
ical seminary. 

The seminary was separated from the modern 
houses about it not only by the fence, but also 
by its age, its soberness, its shaded walks, and 
its ample stretches of lawn. Behind the leaves 
of the trees I saw one of those mill-like dormi- 
tories which our stern, eighteenth-century fore- 
fathers loved to build when they planned colleges 
and seminaries. The whole aspect of the place, 
as I entered the gate, was one of monkish 

[202] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

repose, of academic sedateness. The drab paint 
on the porches of the dormitory and covering the 
professors' houses, the dignified layers of brick 
in the chapel, all said, as plainly as you please, 
"Don't laugh here!" All my early dreams con- 
cerning how colleges and places of learning 
should look, were realized. The very bricks in 
the buildings seemed to be after a theological 
education. 

As I put my foot on the porch a young man 
met me, asked me if I was "Mr. Priddy," and 
on learning that I was, he escorted me immedi- 
ately over to the president's house^ where the 
final arrangements for my matriculation in 
the Seminary were completed. An hour later, 
under the guidance of Burner, who was an upper 
classman, I was purchasing an oil lamp, a par- 
lor stove, a ton of coal, a wash basin, two coal- 
hods, and sundry decorations. Two hours after 
that I had unpacked my belongings in a double 
room on the fourth floor of the dormitory, 
and when the chapel bell sounded for supper, 
Burner conducted me into a very old-fashioned 
Commons, on the walls of which were paintings 
of ships and shipwrecks. Here I was intro- 
duced to the students and then found myself 
eating voraciously of the fare that was set before 
me. 

The next morning, I was awakened by the 
piping of a little bird that sang on the window 
ledge, under the open window. 

[203] 



Chapter XXII. Stoves with 
Traditions , Domestic Habits ', and 
Greek, "Boys Will be Boys" 

THE apocalyptic hope of the stu- 
dents who were domiciled in 
Therenton Hall, the Seminary 
dormitory, included steam heat 
and running water; for neither of 
those modern conveniences had been installed up 
to that time and students had to carry hods of 
coal up four flights of stairs; and were compelled 
to convey pitchers of water the same distance. 
Each one had his own coal bin in the vaulted cellar 
and also owned a kindling pile which he watched 
with suspicious and amusing jealousy. Besides 
that, ashes had to be raked from stoves, car- 
ried downstairs, and sifted — by the thrifty — 
in a far corner of the cellar, where lay the dor- 
mitory ash heap. 

The parlor stoves, coal-hods, water bowls, 
and pitchers, the personal possessions of the 
students, were handed down from class to class, 
in many instances, until the most trivial price 

[204] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

— say a dollar for a six-foot stove — gave a 
profit of ten cents and three years' use to the 
senior who sold out. The stove I purchased 
for two dollars was a giant of a stove, high, 
bulky, and lavishly decorated with ring-a-rosy 
cherubs, covered with a thick coating of stove 
polish until they had ceased being an angelic 
silver and had become an Ethiopian black. 
I mention this stove because its sheet-tin girth 
was hallowed by hoary traditions, and if it 
could have spoken it would have kept me 
cheered for many hours by a recital of the 
different escapades in which it had % figured at 
the hands of the theologues. The rust on its 
bands, for instance, was due to the fact that 
some students had plastered it with a swad- 
dling of sticky fly paper. The dent imme- 
diately under the hood had been made by a 
flying theological treatise which had been aimed 
originally at the head of an intruder, who in- 
sisted on keeping one of the stove's former 
owners from a study of Hebrew nouns. The 
broken foot, which rested on some thin wafers 
of wood, was caused by the attempt on the part 
of some students to reverse the stove during the 
absence of another owner who was paying court 
to one of the young women in the city. 

We attended to the dusting and care of our 
own rooms with more or less thoroughness. 
Some of my friends chose to sleep and study 
amidst dust and disorder rather than to endure 

[205] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

the strain and toil of a sweeper, a beater, and 
a duster for a Saturday morning. When we 
went to a city prayer-meeting or a lecture, we 
would usually dangle our greasy kerosene cans 
as far as the corner grocery and leave them to 
be filled. In fact, so inextricably interwoven 
with our intellectual concerns were our domestic 
habits, that I had not been in the dormitory 
very long before I caught myself entering my 
Greek class holding fast to a coal-hod, which I 
had taken the trouble to carry along the walk 
and into the recitation building, while I had 
unconsciously propped my Greek Testament 
very snugly behind the lower banister, under 
the impression that it had been the coal-hod. 

One Saturday morning, Providence or Fate 
— whatever it would be at a theological semi- 
nary — arranged a mise en scene which called 
attention, in an effective way, to the inconven- 
ience of permitting the students the use of coal- 
hods and wash bowls. The President was 
entertaining a gentleman who had been the 
first donor to our new and splendid gymnasium. 
He had escorted the benefactor through the bath- 
rooms, the bowling-alleys, over the running-track, 
and had taken him among the equipment, with 
evidences of great pleasure. I had occasion to be 
leaving the gymnasium in their wake. I saw the 
President throw open the door which led into the 
lower hall of the dormitory and heard him say, 
"This is our dormitory — " or something to 

[206] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

that effect, and he stepped back to allow the sem- 
inary benefactor to precede him into the dignified 
precincts of our domicile. Then he followed, 
and one may imagine how he must have felt, 
as he gazed upon a chaos of coal, of wood, of 
water, and of broken crockery, which lay like 
the trail of a sloven over the hall and over the 
first flight of steps; echoes from the preceding 
night, when the top floor had engaged the lower 
floors in a counter demonstration of noise, smash, 
and confusion. 



[207] 



Chapter XXIII. A Plot Which 
had for its End the Raising up of 
a Discouraged Young Preacher 

ONE day I was sitting in the appar- 
ently deserted library, looking over 
the new books which were always 
kept on a side shelf, at the entrance 
to one of the alcoves, when I heard 
a heavy, most disconsolate sigh, coming from a 
hidden corner in the rear of the room. The 
sigh was followed by the rustling of book leaves. 
I continued my investigation of the new books, 
but was once more interrupted by that same, pro- 
longed sighing. It was just such a sigh as 
Dante must have heard proceeding from the 
lips of those unfortunate creatures who stood 
in neither hope nor despair. I decided to inves- 
tigate, and, for that purpose, went down the 
alcove from which the sighing seemed to have 
come, and there, with his back turned to me, 
seated at one of the reference tables, with his 
head resting woefully on his spread out arms, 
sat Amos Tucker, an upper class man. 

I hesitated to approach him, at first, and pre- 

[208] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

tended that I had come into the alcove for a 
book. Then again the sigh proceeded from the 
limp heap at the table, and, throwing all restraint 
to the winds, I went to the table, touched Amos 
on the shoulder, and said, 

"Are you in trouble, Tucker?" 

He raised his tearful, grey eyes to me, and 
said, 

"They say I'm not fit to be a preacher!" 

I sat down beside him, for from his manner 
I knew that he welcomed me to be his confidant. 

"Who says so? Any of the students?" I 
asked. 

"No, it wouldn't matter if it came from them: 
the church says so!" 

"What church is that, Tucker?" 

He sat up in his chair and replied, 

"I have just started to preach, this year. I 
have been out for two Sundays in a little place 
where they give me seven dollars, out of which 
I have to pay a dollar and a half for expenses. 
It's not that I care a snap about the money, 
though, but I want a place to call my parish. I 
feel that I ought to preach. Well, I've got a 
letter from the committee this morning, tell- 
ing me that they will have to get along without 
me; that they cannot have me any longer for 
their minister." 

"What reasons do they offer?" 

"That's it!" he responded, with a catch in 
his voice, "they have had the bravery to tell 

[209] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

me the exact reason. It is this : they tell me — 
oh, hadn't you better read for yourself," and he 
handed me the last page of a letter, explaining, 

"It's all on that one page: all that you want 
to know." 

I read: 

"You can never make a preacher, we feel — 
excuse us for telling you so frankly — you have 
no voice, you do not read well, your grammar 
is poor, your themes are not interesting. Your 
last Sunday morning's talk on 'Conscience' 
was beyond our understanding. Several good 
supporters have threatened to forego their 
subscriptions if we have you another Sunday. 
Will you kindly suggest some one to come to 
us next Sunday and oblige, yours in Christian 
sincerity, etc." 

"Blunt, isn't it?" he half smiled. 

"The idea of asking you to send them some- 
body, after that!" I gasped. 

"Oh," he sniffed, "it's all in Christian sin- 
cerity, you know!" 

"Well," I added, "there are other places, 
Tucker. Cheer up!" 

Then a most discouraging change came into 
his eyes, he nodded his head, and replied, with 
vigor, 

"The trouble of it is, Priddy, what they say 
is all true, every word of it! I have a terrible 
voice and can't seem to get my words out. I 
don't know much about grammar; never had 

[210] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

much of a chance on the farm. I'm not quick 
to learn like so many here. I have to plod and 
plod and plod. As for interesting sermons, 
why, if they aren't interesting I do the best I 
can!" 

I wanted to ask him, then, why he persisted 
in entering the ministry, but I couldn't find cour- 
age to do so, but he had read my thoughts, for 
he said, immediately, 

"You wonder why, if I know all this, I enter 
the ministry, and fight against hope? Well, 
I'll tell you. I have felt, right along, that I 
might break down my handicaps. At least I 
thought I would give myself a thorough trial, 
no matter how bitter the disappointment of 
failure might be. I didn't mind losing two or 
three places at first, if I could finally master 
myself. It was a sort of inherent vanity of 
mine that I could succeed. But this — this 
seems to be a judgment on me, I guess. I 
think I'll pack up and go out and become — 
oh, anything that pays day wages. At least, 
I can try to be a good layman!" 

"Why don't you try it another year?" I sug- 
gested. "Things might turn." 

"How can I stay here if I can't earn some 
money by preaching? " he asked. " If no church 
will take me, why, I shall have to leave the 
Seminary." 

"I wouldn't leave before having a good talk 
with some of the professors," I suggested. "I 

[211] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

think you have the sort of a spirit which will 
finally prevail, Tucker." 

"Oh," he replied, "I haven't got much spirit 
— now — after that letter. They might have 
borne with me a month or two longer — per- 
haps I should have surprised them." Then he 
laughed, bitterly. "You can't guess why I 
came into the library with my troubles, Priddy, 
can you?" 

"No." 

"You see this!" and he indicated a large, 
open book, on which his tears had been falling. 
It was a huge, ancient tome, with metal bands 
and chipped leather binding. The leaves were 
yellowed, and from them came a dampish odor 
of musty age. It was a Latin edition of "The 
Book of Martyrs" opened at the page where the 
fanciful wood-cut showed heaps of flaming 
fagots, blazing in Smithfield market, directly 
under the bare feet of a woman, tied to a stake 
and holding to her breast a crying infant. 

"There is a story about here," went on 
Tucker, with a smile, "to the effect that a for- 
mer student in the Seminary, when discouraged, 
would come into the library and pore over these 
dismal, grewsome pictures, and persuade him- 
self that his own sufferings were trivial when 
compared with the sufferings of these martyrs! 
I thought I'd come and try it, too, but it only 
intensified my own misery!" He shut the great 
book with such an explosion that the dust 

[212] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

issued from it and gleamed in the rays of the 
sun which streamed in through the window. 

"But I'd stay on till the end, Tucker," I 
persisted. "It's worth trying — if you feel 
that you have a call to preach!" 

"I have the call clearly enough," he insisted, 
evidently cheered by my confidence in him. 
"If I could only persuade others of it, though, 
I should feel happier." 

"Probably you'll have another chance to 
preach before you expect it," I said, in conclu- 
sion, and left him with the intention of speak- 
ing in his behalf to some of the students, who 
might be able to encourage him in a substantial 
manner. 

I went, quite naturally, to Burner, the upper- 
class man who had manifested an interest in 
my arrival. The big student heard my ver- 
sion of Tucker's experience without comment, 
and then, after a moment of thought, answered, 

"Don't you bother yourself any further about 
him. I'll do all I can. This is an upper-class- 
man's work, and it needs, too, some fine work 
by the professors. It wouldn't take much to 
drive Tucker off. By the way, don't mention 
to him about your conversation with me. I'm 
sure he's got the stuff in him for a preacher. 
He needs practical encouragement and he shall 
have it. You just watch!" 

Two days later, while I was in the gymna- 
sium, practising alone with the basket ball, 

[213] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

Tucker appeared on the floor in his gymnasium 
clothes, and, apparently, in a very happy frame 
of mind. As he stood opposite to me and caught 
the ball as I threw it to him, he said, 

"Priddy, I'm going to preach on Sunday; 
another chance to botch it." 

"Good for you," I declared. "Where are 
you to preach?" 

"For Burner," Tucker explained; "he wants a 
Sunday off. Do you know whether he preaches 
from manuscript or not, Priddy?" 

"I think that he does read — I know he 
does. I recollect to have heard him declare 
that it was only by reading that one could get 
logical sequence: his pet hobby." 

Tucker held the ball in the air for a second 
and sighed, audibly. "That makes it some- 
what easier for me, Priddy. You see, even if 
I ramble on with notes, so long as I don't read 
my sermon word for word, the congregation will 
give me credit for it, and I may have a chance. 
Anyway, I mean to keep on, even if I am re- 
buffed again." 

The following Sunday morning, while Burner 
was shaving, he said to me, 

"I hope that Tucker has a sermon with some 
logic in it. Anyway, he will get back encour- 
aged. Deacon Herring will see to that!" He 
turned his face from the glass and smiled at 
me through the lather. 

"What do you mean?" I demanded. 

[214] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"I have written a letter to my deacon — 
about Tucker and the tight place he's in," 
explained Burner. "Told him all the facts and 
asked him to work with us to save a good man 
for the Lord's cause. After his sermon, no 
matter how good or ill it is, Deacon Herring 
will go up to Tucker with a radiant face, tell 
him how glad they are to have him along, and 
invite him to preach the following Sunday. 
Meanwhile the deacon will forward to me a 
carefully written, frank criticism of Tucker, 
from which we can diagnose his troubles, fairly, 
and then get some of the professors \p work on 
his case. Oh," and Burner's face was gleam- 
ing, "I guess if there's any good points under 
Tucker's skin, we'll uncover them!" 

It was an unusual edition of Tucker who 
returned the following day. I walked with 
him, arm in arm over to the Commons. 

"There, Priddy," he chattered, "at last I've 
found somebody who thinks I'm called to preach. 
They want me to supply Burner's pulpit again 
next Sunday! He's to have another day off. 
Tired, he told me. That's the best sort of 
appreciation, isn't it?" he added. 

Burner said nothing to me or any one else 
about the personal sacrifice he made in giving 
up two Sundays to the discouraged Tucker, 
but I knew that the money he gave up was 
much needed. Burner, meanwhile, received 
the diagnosis from his deacon, and reported 

[215] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

matters to one of the professors to whom Tucker 
looked with great reverence and respect. The 
result of this came out in a diplomatic invi- 
tation, sent by the professor, for Tucker to come 
and have a talk about his affairs — a perfectly 
natural request for the professor to make. 

It did not take the professor long — armed 
as he was by Burner's report — to get from 
Tucker a statement of his situation. Finally, 
the professor set himself to work, not only 
on the written sermons of Tucker, but also 
on his enunciation, his gestures, and his habits 
of thought. 

"The professor's helping me wonderfully,"ex- 
claimed Tucker to me one day, as we took a walk 
into the outskirts of the city. "He's landed 
ker-plunk on my worst faults, just as if he could 
read me like a book. You'd laugh at the sort 
of mournful stuff I've been giving from the pul- 
pit! It's quite plain to me now. I've been too 
depressing. That's been one thing. No wonder 
the people didn't want some of the stuff I've 
been guilty of giving. It's optimism they want, 
Priddy, optimism ! The professor's proved that, 
all right! Just you wait till next Sunday, when 
I preach for Burner. I'm to have a sermon, 
entitled, 'Rejoice, and again I say, Rejoice!' : 

"What have you been preaching on, Tucker? " 
I asked. 

He smiled, as one who could afford now to 
smile at past faults. 

[216] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Judgment, and Conscience, and the Inher- 
itance of Penalty, and such-like," he said. 
"Heavy, eh?" 

"I've no doubt you had some good ideas on 
those subjects, Tucker, though, as you say, 
they are a trifle doleful, one after the other." 

"Got thinking in a groove, Priddy, that's 
what the professor thought. But, of course, 
I've other faults. I don't speak up — just 
whisper: no life or action. But," he went on 
with a confidential smile, "I'm working hard 
on that, too. Mean to brighten up on those 
things next Sunday; though reformation can't 
come in a day or a week." 

The next Monday a most encouraging report 
came to Burner from his deacon. Among other 
things, the old man said in his letter, 

"There were not many out to hear him, for 
they had not cared for his preaching of the pre- 
vious Sunday : but to those of us who had heard 
him the first time, his second appearance was 
startling. First of all, he seemed to have con- 
fidence. That was the striking thing. Then, 
in his effort to make himself heard he kept on 
a high-pitched note, which was somewhat mo- 
notonous, but more effective than his former 
timid whispering as if he were afraid of burst- 
ing the ear-drum of a gnat which sat on his 
desk. He fanned the air like a windmill in 
an effort to remedy lack of action: but that 
was a good sign. It argues well for the young 

[217] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

man when he gets on the middle ground. But 
his sermon! He really gave us a cheering 
word; that made most of the others, who were 
there, like him. Personally, he would be glad 
to know in what a different way I have taken 
the application of his sermon, to 'rejoice, and 
again — rejoice.' I wish him the best of success. 
There is hope for him. I am getting one or two 
people, who told me they like what he had to say 
about rejoicing, to write notes of appreciation 
to him." 

"Twenty dollars well spent!" concluded 
Burner, with a smile. "At the rate, he is going 
Tucker will have a church of his own, over which 
he will cast his blessing. He has confidence — 
now ! " 

Late in the spring, Tucker found himself enjoy- 
ing somewhat of a local reputation among us, 
for he was a decided success, by that time, on 
his preaching expeditions. He said to me, 

"Priddy, the other people think I've got a 
call — now. I had a narrow escape, didn't I?" 



[218] 



Chapter XXIV. Burner, a 
Searcher After "Truth. How a 
May-Pole Subdued a Tribe of 
Little Savages 

BURNER, the upper-classmajt, though 
not my roommate, and by his upper- 
class privileges under no sentimental 
obligations to me, became my con- 
stant companion. He was a tall, 
thick-set man with a very heavy black mous- 
tache, much older than myself and dominated 
by a very heavy but sincere temperament. He 
had been a real estate agent and a country 
auctioneer up to his thirtieth birthday. Then 
he had studied for three years, privately, with a 
high-school principal, and later he had come to 
the Seminary to put himself under training for 
the ministry. 

Burner almost frightened me by his hunger 
and thirst after knowledge, for in him I looked 
upon the epic grandeur of a mind, long starved, 
completely awake. All the outstanding, amaz- 
ing, bewildering intellectual problems of the 

[219] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

Universe and God, had solutions which Burner, 
with a sense of his limitations, sought to mas- 
ter. I had seen students of books before, 
prize scholars, in Evangelical University, but 
I had never beheld the workings of an awak- 
ened, mature mind. Books and the teachings 
of the masters were merely the starting points, 
the paths of departure, for Burner. He sought his 
path to God and God's mind by his own charts. 
He was his own authority in thought, an inde- 
pendent ship under full sail exploring unmapped 
territory. He would sit in his Morris chair, 
in a secluded corner of his room, with his bony 
fingers propping up his gaunt chin, and with blaz- 
ing eyes try to think out, in his own words, from 
a synthesis of his own observations, why God 
permitted evil. One night he rushed into my 
room with almost fanatical eagerness and com- 
pelled me to listen while, from a newspaper 
item which told of a father who had given some 
of his blood to his sickly child, he gave an elo- 
quent theory of the Divine Fatherhood, sug- 
gested by that analogy. All his studies, in 
language, science, and philosophy were focussed 
upon his thought of God. They were not merely 
a discipline, or parts of a necessary curriculum, 
but the means to an end, the roads over which 
he went to a completer knowledge of his faith. 
The most unrelated and even trivial items of 
truth aroused his mind to action and set him at 
work on the most intricate and abstruse doc- 

[220] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

trines. He was critical down to the fine points 
of sharpening a pencil: he was intolerant of 
those who got their conclusions from text- 
books. 

"I'm doing my own thinking," was his fa- 
vorite sentence, "basing it on careful reading and 
minute information and nearly always I find 
that I get conclusions, after hard thought, that 
I might have secured, second-hand, from books. 
But oh, Priddy, what a treat it is to be in the 
Seminary, filling in the mind after it has been 
starved all these years ! " 

"It must be a tremendous inspiration to you, 
Burner," I said, "you seem to enjoy it so!" 

"Enjoy it!" he gasped. "I revel in it! Just 
think how blank my mind was when I came here ! 
I thought they wouldn't take me. I had never 
been to college, and had little preparation. 
When they did take me and give me my chance, 
I resolved to make up for lost time, Priddy. 
Other seminaries would have refused me, and 
I should never have gone into the ministry. 
Of course it is the biggest inspiration that has 
ever come to me. It is my first real chance!" 

I soon learned that I had found in the East 
what I had found in Evangelical University, a 
professional school that was willing to bend to 
the service of the ambitious but unprepared 
student. But in the Seminary there was more 
point and breadth to the teaching; the stud- 
ies were more thorough, intellectually more 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

satisfying; so, with Burner and with many others 
who, like myself, had never been to college, I 
began the exciting adventure into disciplined 
truth. 

It was rich fare to which I was invited, dur- 
ing that first year: the tough meat, Hebrew, 
which even moderately digested, meant exe- 
getical strength in Old Testament lore, the ten- 
derer portions of Greek which nourished one's 
New Testament appetite; entrees of psychol- 
ogy and philosophy; well-baked and spiced 
Church history, and a various dessert of special 
lectures comprising every viand from the art 
of preaching to nerve-stirring appreciations of 
social movements. 

The social life of Evangelical University had 
been so narrow that I was ready to appreciate 
the broadness of that permitted us in the Sem- 
inary. The professors had us in their homes 
for teas and dinners. The intimate touch be- 
tween us and our teachers formed part of the 
discipline of those years. There was hardly 
any sign of that academic aloofness which I had 
always supposed to be characteristic of eastern 
institutions. I ran into the room of a sick class- 
mate one Saturday morning, only to find him 
being nursed by the professor of theology. 
The utmost freedom of thought was given us 
in the speculations of the classrooms. It was 
an atmosphere where bigotry and dogmatism 
could not live overnight. Our lives, by being 

[2221 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

linked to that of the Seminary, began to be 
linked to the life of the city; for the churches 
and the people showed us many thoughtful 
courtesies, took us into their circles, and made 
many winter evenings merry and profitable. 

I still had to rely upon my own efforts for 
money, but the days of loading brick, raking 
lawns, making furnace fires, were gone now, and 
I was enabled to earn money in a more pro- 
fessional way. I was given the task of organ- 
izing some children for one of the smaller 
churches of the city. One hundred of them 
met me on Sunday afternoons, in tke body of 
the church, where for an hour we tried to get 
along harmoniously together and incidentally 
learn some concrete definitions of the Kingdom 
of God. I tried to preach through pictures on 
a blackboard and through objects like keys and 
nails, knives and flowers. Many of the little 
ones were not used to church etiquette, so I had 
to wander away from the Kingdom of God 
many times to instruct some of them concern- 
ing the necessity of taking off caps in church, 
of the inhumanity of pulling one another's 
hair braids, of the in judiciousness of poking 
pins in one another's necks. Often, too, when 
the neighborhood, after a Sunday feast of 
mutton and peas, was enjoying its mid-after- 
noon slumbers, some of the boys would whirl 
the church bell and make startled men and 
women imagine it was the fourth alarm of a 

[223] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

fire. I had to correct that practise. We held 
several socials during the year, socials of a 
unique character. My assistants would keep 
the door locked in the little chapel until the 
oil lamps had been lifted out of danger. The 
popcorn and candy would be put on tables in 
heaps and the signal of admission given. Into 
the room the horde of yelling, scrambling chil- 
dren would come and fill it with all manner 
of wild romping. The refreshments would be 
given, there would follow another wild frolic, 
and at half-past eight the children would go 
home persuaded that they had had "a dandy 
time! Three helpings of popcorn and all the 
lemonade you could drink!" 

When the first of May arrived, I announced 
a picnic for the children, and though the day 
was cold, more than our actual membership 
appeared — with individual lunches. When we 
arrived at the grove I had to stand guard over 
the lunches until the noon hour. Then, after 
an afternoon of disordered fun and fight, I man- 
aged to secure order on the way home by per- 
mitting the children to hold the ribbons of the 
May -pole and to trail behind in orderly proces- 
sion, singing, as we entered the residential sec- 
tion of the city, very piously and earnestly, 
"Onward, Christian Soldiers!" 

Meanwhile the arched elms on the seminary 
campus leafed out and shaded the walks with 
cool shadows. The students met after supper, 

[224] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

threw off their coats, and played ball until 
darkness. The robins began to perch on my 
bedroom window ledge and waken me by their 
dulcet flutings long before breakfast. The 
fumes of burning leaves came through the open 
windows from the campus. It was spring and 
it was graduation time for the seniors. 

It was the season of the year when at Evan- 
gelical University the students, like Thropper, 
would be planning to earn money during the 
coming vacation by taking subscriptions for 
"The Devil in Society" and similar objects; 
but my summer was to be one full^of inspira- 
tional and serviceable possibilities. It had been 
arranged for me, by the seminary president, 
that I should take two schoolhouses in a far- 
away district and preach during the long vaca- 
tion. At last I was to actually enter upon my 
chosen profession. _ 



[225] 



Chapter XXV. At the Heart 
of Human Nature. A Confiden- 
tial Walk with a Dollar Bill at 
the End of it. A Philosophical Ob- 
servation from the Stage-Driver 

A FOUR hours' journey by train, each 
minute going farther and farther 
away from thickly settled country, 
and then I found myself waiting on 
a depot platform for the stage-driver 
who was to conduct me to Upper and Lower 
Village, twelve miles from the railroad. 

I looked around and when my eyes lighted 
on a wooden-legged man, seated on the front 
seat of a democrat wagon, I knew that I had 
found the conveyance. I went over to him and 
said, 

"Are you going to Upper and Lower Village? " 

He aimed some colored expectoration over his 

horse's ear, watched it alight upon a fluttering 

piece of paper, and then, satisfied with his 

marksmanship, he said, gruffly, 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

" Ef you're th' Elder, why, I got a seat. Jump 



m! 



The day was excessively hot, and we sat 
under the full glare of the sun. We left the 
little railroad village and plunged on through 
the churned-up swirls of choking dust straight 
into the isolation of this world, into a part of 
New England where whole townships have not 
even yet attained unto the dignity of names, but 
like prisoners with their suffrage taken from 
them, must be known by mere numbers. 

The forests had been leveled, and there were 
innumerable acres of deforested land covered 
with rusty branches which had been left after 
the choppers had trimmed the logs. After 
several miles, we came to wide stretches of plain, 
covered with blueberry bushes. 

A dip in the road, and we had plowed 
through the last inch of dust: the wheels of the 
democrat rattled merrily over the stone road 
of Lower Village. Word had been telephoned 
from the first farm we had passed that "the 
new Elder was on the stage with Bill." The 
women boldly stood at their doors watching; 
from behind many windows I saw intent faces 
engaged in taking a comprehensive glance at 
me. I maintained a stolid attitude, and pre- 
tended not to be aware of the intense and con- 
tinuous surveillance to which I was subjected. 
We thundered over a wooden bridge, went up 
a steep hill, and drew rein at a long veranda, 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

which "Bill" informed me was the "Office, 
whar you git down." 

A tall, timid octogenarian, in shirtsleeves, 
whose thick trousers were drawn up tightly 
above soil-daubed shoes, introduced himself 
as "the deacon" and conducted me to a little 
house down a lane which ended in a pasture. 
The hot air of the day was fragrant with the 
odor of sweet-smelling foliage. Crows were 
screaming in the distance over the tops of 
some burnt pines. A woman, tall and thin and 
pale, welcomed me with all the hospitality with 
which a mother would welcome a son. I knew 
from that moment that I had a pleasant summer 
before me. 

The two villages were nothing more than 
single rows of houses on either side of a main 
road. That road went inland for miles and miles 
through immeasurable solitudes, where no man 
dwelt. We were at the end of the world, 
apparently. 

Then began my missionary experience. I 
was passed from home to home, sometimes 
staying but three days in one place: the object 
being both economical and social. The cost 
of my board, under this arrangement, was 
very light on each household, and as each host- 
ess was not satisfied unless she gave the "Elder" 
the very best cooking she could produce, my 
short stay did not permit any embarrassment 
to the menu. But more especially this arrange- 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

ment made it possible for me to know nearly 
every family in my parishes intimately, as the 
association with the families at the table was 
the means of establishing more than a perfunc- 
tory friendship. They learned some of my 
shortcomings, and I was made aware of their 
needs. When, in the latter part of the sum- 
mer, I was boarding in Upper Village, in the 
shadow of the mountain, and went down to 
Lower Village for a Wednesday evening meet- 
ing, one of the households expected me to creep 
into the house with the eldest son, go into the 
pantry and "steal" huge slices of % blueberry 
cake. This done, the husband and wife would 
come into the kitchen, have a hearty laugh, 
and before I started back for my boarding-place, 
we would have our serious talk over matters 
of faith and life. 

There were few well-to-do farmers in the 
community. The distance was too great from 
the railroads for the injection of much social 
life. The winters were filled with days when 
life was grim. Had it not been for the tele- 
phone and the mail, the life of that back road 
would have been without any great attractions. 
But the very isolation of the villages, and the 
absence of many social opportunities through 
the winter, like a church and preaching, made 
these farmers the prey of traveling fanatics, 
who imported here and there the most fanciful 
conceptions of religion and sought, by all man- 

[229] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

ner of persuasion, to turn people into Mor- 
mons and "New Lights," "Holy Ghosters" and 
"Disciples." It did not take long to see that 
some of these perversions had taken root in 
some homes, and I found myself having to 
attempt the feat of constructing a positive and 
less fanatical doctrine : a feat which at the time 
I did poorly enough, but which I took pleasure 
in attempting. But it was not formal doctrine 
or intellectual discriminations which those par- 
ishes needed as much as it was a social man, to 
impart into their midst, after the austere winter, 
a joke, a song, a story, and a friendly hand- 
clasp. If I had preached no sermon, but merely 
gone from home to home, from field to field, 
telling men and women and children that I 
was their friend, I believe that I should have 
accomplished the major part of the needed 
ministry. 

The meetings were held in the upper rooms 
of two very solidly constructed schoolhouses 
four miles apart. Our meetings had to be 
announced in two kinds of time, for some set 
their clocks by the sun, while others set them 
by the Standard, sent over the telephone wires. 
The dim, chalky atmosphere of the rooms was 
always colored by rich green ferns and assort- 
ments of wild flowers. Even though the 
flowers were bunched in the necks of mustard 
bottles, tumblers, and cream jugs, and not 
always arranged according to Japanese art, 

[230] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

yet the thought that the sense of beauty in 
religion found expression even in wild flowers 
apologized for all else. When the hob-nailed 
boot and the plow, year in and out, are uproot- 
ing and crushing field flowers, it marks the high 
tide of esthetic appreciation when the wearers 
of the hob -nailed boot and guiders of the plow 
take pains to pick those flowers and add them 
to their hymns, their prayers, and sermons in 
praise to God. 

No small, narrow opportunity was mine, 
such as in my gloomier moments I had ascribed 
to a country pastor. Preaching a sermon 
formed but a fraction of my duty. There were 
young men and women who sought advice 
about the outside world, and their business 
chances in it. There were business colleges, 
academies, hospitals, and mills to propose to 
the restless ones, who, like young birds, were 
to try life on their own wings. 

Entwined in the pastoral work, were many 
social pleasures that made my body strong and 
rested my nerves : adventures over the high hills 
for soul-subduing vistas of mountains and lakes ; 
trout fries by the side of meadow brooks; pic- 
nics by the river; visits to bark-peeling camps, 
over corduroy roads, and encampment on a 
lake shore where at night the wild birds gave 
voice and were interpreted to us by a guide. 

The golden-rod lined the dusty road at last, 
and the purple flowers took the place of the 

[231] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

lighter summer ones, and it was time for me to 
return to the Seminary. The services were 
crowded that last Sunday; mothers brought 
their babies and did not care if the little ones 
did compete with me, in voice. I knew what 
was in the faces, as they looked intently on 
me, as I preached. They were thinking that 
this would probably be the last preaching they 
would hear until the following summer, unless 
some stray, itinerant evangelist strolled that 
way and [opened up the schoolhouse for an eve- 
ning. There were many tearful farewells, and 
then the people went out into the night. It 
was a clear night of stars and chill. As I left 
the schoolhouse, having bade good-bye to the 
janitor, for I was due to leave on the next morn- 
ing's stage, a young farmer stepped out from the 
deep shadow of an oak near the flag-staff and 
accosted me with, 

"Say, Elder, do you care to go up the road a 
piece: 

I responded that I should enjoy a walk and 
a chat with him. 

While we walked between two walls of trees, 
our way dimly outlined by the faint flicker of 
the stars, my friend said, 

"I'm one of the bashful sort, Elder. You 
know that; but I didn't want you to leave with- 
out having me tell you how much you have 
helped my folks this summer. The time you 
come in our house and played and sang at the 

[232] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

organ for us, and cheered us up with a laugh, 
why it made things different in our house. 
Since mother died, we've been having a hard 
row to hoe, and you don't know how much we've 
appreciated the cheering up you give us. It 
gets terrible lonesome out here through the 
winter, and I want to thank you for all that 
you've done!" 

We took a long walk through the night, pay- 
ing no attention to distance; but sharing con- 
fidences in true brotherly fashion. Then we 
turned about and when we came to the cross- 
road, in front of the schoolhouse, w^ clasped 
hands, and as he hurried, without another 
word, into the darkness towards his mother- 
less home, I felt something crisp in the palm of 
my hand. When I returned to my room and 
had a light I found that he had given me a 
dollar bill for a thank offering. 

The next morning I had my baggage on the 
stage, this time for a return. Bill, with his 
wooden leg, greeted me, for by this time we 
were old friends. The word of parting was 
given at the post-office, and the democrat 
rattled down the grade and over the bridge. 
This time a continuous flutter of handkerchiefs 
and aprons, and a continuous hearty shout from 
the men and boys, followed our passage through 
the two villages and then we drove into the 
dusk of the road through the blueberry barrens, 
Bill aiming expectoration at every soap sign 

[233] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

within reach, and confiding in me, on the 
way, the fact that he had loved once and 
"lost," which he seemed to take in a very 
philosophical mood, for he concluded with this 
phrase, "You can't get the hang of wimmen, 
anyhow!" 



[234] 



Chapter XXVL "The Strange 
Adventure of Burner into Nothing, 
and How my Own Mind Got into 
Trouble ; and How my Faith was 
Strengthened under the Chapel 
Window % 

ON my return to the Seminary I found 
Burner in the throes of intellectual 
despair. The big fellow was sitting 
in his room, half buried in the depths 
of the green Morris chair, his bony 
fingers prodded into his working brows. 
"What's wrong, Burner?" I demanded. 
"I've been thinking back too far," announced 
the serious fellow. 

"Thinking back too far?" I gasped. 
"Yes," he muttered. "I've nothing to stand 
on, now." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I've thought away all substance — now!" 
he moaned, in despair. "I can't even conceive 
a God!" 
"Burner!" 

[235] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Horrible, isn't it, Priddy?" 

"What do you mean — explain, so that I 
can get this thing by its head," I suggested. 

Burner seriously gathered himself together 
in his chair, sipped from a glass of water, and 
then began, 

"Probably I do too much thinking; maybe 
that's what's the matter, Priddy. When I 
left here, last June, and went out for the sum- 
mer, I began to try to think through substance; 
I thought I might do it, sometime. I got to 
thinking about it, when I took my walks over 
the hills, and kept thinking about it, but, some- 
how, I couldn't get my thought back of the 
material. When I got back here, last week, I 
was sitting in this chair, when all of a sudden 
I did think back of God; and conceived all 
reality as being so immaterial that nothing 
exists: no, nothing!" he shouted, "not even — 
God!" 

"Can't you think back again — to him?" I 
demanded, making an effort to be of some assist- 
ance and comfort to the disconsolate man. 

Burner stood on his feet, and paced the floor, 
excitedly, and said as he gestured with his 
hands, 

"I've got to be honest — with truth, no mat- 
ter how far it leads me!" 

"Yes!" 

"Just think how horrible it is; I've thought 
back till I've struck nothing — nothing!" 

[236] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Come, it's not so bad as that, Burner, is 
it?" 

"I shan't be able to preach, to study, to 
believe anything!" he declared. "How can I 
when there is nothing to preach, to study, or 
to believe?" 

I could not conceive a more pathetic restraint 
on a man who sought to get his living by preach- 
ing and study. 

"Perhaps some of the professors might help 
you back — at least as far as a belief in God," 
I suggested, timidly. 

"Oh, if I only could get back there," he 
pleaded, "I would pray about the matter, but 
I can't pray to nothing, can I?" 

I began then to realize how much a dilemma 
a philosophical honesty could create. 

"You are too serious, Burner," I proposed. 
"You ought to take some things for granted; 
not seek to explain everything, you know." 

He looked at me through astonished eyes, 

"I will take nothing for granted that cannot 
bear the test of logic!" 

"There," I cried exultantly, "your intellec- 
tual adventures have brought you into German 
Rationalism: that's just what's the matter with 
you, Burner. You're not the first one that has 
been caught. It is a passing experience. Keep 
on thinking, old fellow, you'll come back after 
a time. It looks serious now, but it's only a 
phase. Read the biographies of some of the 

[237] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

saints; it will help you back to a positive faith, 

I » >> 

m sure. 

So I left him with that comfort, hoping that 
he would not leave the Seminary in his intel- 
lectual excitement, for I felt sure that his 
Rationalism or Agnosticism or whatever form 
of mind he was in, would pass and give way to 
something with more color and inspiration in it. 

Our studies for the second year were more 
practical and philosophical than those we re- 
ceived during the first year. I was ready to 
appreciate the value of the studies more after 
my summer's experience as a missionary. The 
intellectual honesty and sincerity of Burner 
was indicative of the spirit which one of the 
professors, who later left us, engendered in us. 
One incident will illustrate the temper of his 
art of teaching. Our class, in its first year, 
had approached this man's recitation with a 
feeling of fear, for his astute mind and his 
impassive manner in the classroom, and withal, 
his absolute fearlessness in bringing up the 
other side of an affirmative, had not reacted in 
his favor. Even before we knew him, we had 
him placarded, in our minds, as an unbeliever! 
One day when we came into his class we found 
that some one had written on the blackboard, 
the professor's name with this legend after it: 

"Professor Atheist!" 

When he came into the classroom, and saw that, 
I thought he would burst into tears; a look of 

[238] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

patient wonder came into his eyes, and he 
merely said to me, 

"Mr. Priddy, will you kindly take the eraser 
and give us a clean blackboard!" 

Our first class under this teacher was one in 
psychology. We met and his first question 
was, 

"What are we to study?" 

Instantly one of my classmates replied, 

"Psychology!" 

"What is psychology?" 

My classmate, who had read the definition 
in the day's lesson replied, confidently, 

"'The study of the mind and the processes 
of the mind,' sir." 

"Ah, and what do you mean by the mind? 
What do you know about the mind? Have 
you ever seen one?" 

My classmate stammered, 

"Why — eh, no, sir." 

"Then perhaps some one else will inform me 
what we are here for?" 

No one was willing. 

"Then you will return to your rooms, gentle- 
men," said the professor, without a trace of a 
smile, "and come tomorrow at the same hour 
and tell us what we are to study during the 
year. I really must know. We cannot get 
along until I do." 

The next day, some of us met, before the class 
and conspired to teach that professor his les- 

[239] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

son. We memorized the definitions and the 
explanations so that it would be impossible for 
us to slip. Then we entered the classroom. 

"What are we here for, gentlemen?" began 
the professor. 

Instantly the answer came from the corner, 

"To study psychology, sir." 

"Will any one tell me what is meant by 
psychology?" 

"'A study of the mind and the processes of 
the mind, as such,' " responded another student. 

"'As such.' What is meant by that, sir?" 

One of my classmates undertook to explain 
that "as such" meant that the "states of the 
mind" were to be studied as "states of the 
mind," and not as — eh — " 

"Mince pies?" asked the professor, with a 
slight, serious elevation of his eyebrows. 

For the next five minutes he went around 
the class involving each one of us in our own 
ignorance until it was impossible for him to 
get a reply to any one of his questions. 

"Too bad," he muttered, seriously. "I really 
don't see how we are to get on. This won't do. 
You had better go back to your rooms and come 
tomorrow and see if we can let in any daylight 
on this matter. Good afternoon, gentlemen!" 

We resolved that we would not study a single 
word for the morrow; but that we would go into 
the class and have no information to offer. We 
would see how the professor would like that! 

[240] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

The following afternoon, pursuant to this 
plan, when the professor had greeted us, his 
first question was, 

"What are we to study? Can any one tell 
me?" It brought no response. 

He looked around the room in great astonish- 
ment and went from man to man, asking, 

"Can you tell me?" and each time getting 
a decided and belligerent negative. 

Then a smile of satisfaction lighted up his 
sober face and he said, 

"There, gentlemen. Now that you have 
made up your minds that you know nothing 
about psychology, I am ready to begin to teach 
you!" and from then to the end of the year 
we sat under instruction that was masterly, 
inspiring. 

This spirit of thoroughness and critical 
honesty was needed during the second year, 
for we were constructing a personal faith: a 
task more serious than the mere acquisition of 
historic facts or encyclopaedic knowledge. But 
the teachers were patient, kindly, and watched 
us let conservative and traditional habits of 
mind go, not in any spirit of intolerance. There 
were many times, that year, when I found my- 
self almost duplicating Burner's misery, by 
sitting in my room and wondering, after I had 
let go my traditional habits of thought about 
God and the Bible, what I should do without 
faith. But as one conception went, another, 

[241] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

larger conception came, and I found a nobler 
faith than I ever had before. The self -distrust 
and miserable vacancy of doubt, were, as I had 
blunderingly told Burner, mere phases towards 
a positive faith. One winter morning, after 
a night of mental struggle, during which I 
suffered fully as much as I had ever suffered 
from any physical hardship, I went out on 
the campus to walk about in the crisp air. 
The students had just gone into the chapel for 
morning prayers. I stopped under the win- 
dows and heard the drone of the parlor organ. 
Then, on the quietness of the morning, the 
manly melody came to my ears: a hymn reso- 
nant with a man's faith, and bringing peace to 
my doubts. "Oh, Love That Will Not Let Me 
Go," they were singing, a monkish, monastic 
tinge to it, coming from male throats, — only 
the tenor was too boyish for a monk, too thrill- 
ingly rampant in its ambitious soaring after 
God over the high notes. But it soothed me 
and I went in the strength of that hymn for 
many days. 



[242] 



Chapter XXVII. The Wonder- 
ful Summer on the Pleasure Island 

MY next opportunity of earning 
money for my education came in 
a call to preach on Sundays in a 
little church sixty miles from the 
Seminary at a fashionable summer 
resort. The compensation to be ten dollars a 
week : compensation for three days' absence from 
the Seminary, one hundred and twenty miles 
of travel and expenses, and the nervous exertion 
of preaching twice and teaching a Sunday-school 
class, not excluding pastoral work whenever 
opportunity should offer! 

These weekly journeys began when I arose 
on Saturday morning at five o'clock, drank a 
hastily prepared cup of cocoa, and hurried off 
to the station for the six o'clock train. Then 
the train would start on its way through the 
snow-drifts, puffing and gasping down white 
aisles through rows of stiff, stately pines whose 
hands held puffy clouds of snow, and then fol- 
lowed a slow passage through miles of birches 
bending low under the weight of wet snow like 
robed saints humbled by too great a weight of 

[243] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

glory. The railway trip was followed by a 
steamer journey of eight miles through a heavy, 
sad sea which never seemed to have any light 
in it, and in whose icy surface pretty grey and 
mottled gulls were not afraid to dip their pal- 
pitating breasts. The steamer put me ashore 
on an island whose centre was loaded with a 
serried row of little mountains. At the landing 
I found a stage and drove for eight miles over 
the island to my parish. The stage horse rushed 
us down dipping roads that threaded between 
precipitous mountain sides, whose summits 
were desert rocks and at whose feet had crumbled 
cliff after cliff of red rock, spread out like a 
rusty iron yard. Then the road became a 
climb until some highlands were attained and 
we sped through a little fishing village which 
nestled close to a mysterious, secluded cove, 
guarded by stern, fretted cliffs, a place where 
Stevenson would have had a cave of smugglers 
or the anchorage of a rakish pirate craft. Then 
came a turn in the road, where, behind a fringe 
of thick, old gold birches and in the midst of 
some dead oak stumps, nature had placed a 
cathedral pile of gigantic slabs of stone, one on 
another, as if to show to man what the angels 
of strength could do once they started to build 
with stone. Next followed a bewildering ride 
over a spiral road up a steep hill on which stood 
aristocratic summer homes. At a lookout 
where the road took a sudden dip, one saw the 

[244] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

cold ocean far down below with its heavy, 
listless breakers pounding wearily against the 
iron cliffs, as if saying, "Why do the poets in- 
sist on our ceaselessly trying to shatter this 
cliff? I wish they would let us rest through the 
winter, till the summer visitors come: then I 
will pound like Vulcan's hammer to please 
them!" In the distance, little dismal islands 
stood in the sea like burnt dumplings in gravy. 
Over them the gulls were screaming and wail- 
ing, adding to the solitude and the winter's 
dreariness. Then the stage slanted down the 
hill and after a long, twisting rida drew up 
before the village post-office, where I met my 
host and was duly welcomed as the new minister. 

Back and forth, week after week, returning 
to the Seminary on Monday evenings, I accom- 
plished my journeys faithfully. Each week 
besides my studies I had to plan for the church. 
There was little time for idleness, for the hours 
of recreation were taken up in travel. On 
these trips I took a book and tried to have it 
read on my return. 

But my reward was near at hand. The 
summer arrived, and with it an inflow of wealth, 
honor, and leisure to my parish. A wonderful 
transformation came over the island — the 
Pleasure Island. Boards were unscrewed from 
cottage windows. The dead grass gave way to 
green carpets. Lifeless sticks budded with 
colored foliage. The dead sea and the listless 

[245] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

waves became animated with restless energy. 
The sun kissed the roads into smoothness and 
lined the highways with flowers. Fresh painted 
steamers, with flying banners, whistled into the 
wharves and unloaded crowds of visitors. Steam 
yachts lay at anchor in the cove. The white 
wings of yawls and catboats were dipping in 
the breeze. The mountain paths had been re- 
charted and were filled with adventurers. The 
pine groves and the quiet cliffs lured tired men 
and women to their restful silences. Trout 
fishers rubbed oil of camphor over their faces 
to restrain the ambitious stings of flies and 
mosquitoes, and sought the brook pools where 
Walton's classic trout waited to be played with. 
My little rustic church became filled with city 
people, who not only sat in the pews, but sang 
in the choir, decorated the pulpit with flowers and 
grasses, and served on responsible committees. 

Then, too, my rest and opportunity came, for 
we had a list of distinguished clergymen and 
professors who were to occupy my pulpit every 
Sunday morning, for the resort was very rich 
in clerical talent of a willing and gracious sort. 
We had so much professional talent indeed, that 
one morning near the post-office I beheld two 
bishops, two university presidents, two professors, 
and a world-famous author standing on less than 
two square yards of ground! 

We left the doors and the windows of the 
church open while the noted men preached, and 

[246] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

their voices had to vie with the song birds who 
perched on the waving trees outside the windows. 
The sea tang blew across the church, the sweetest 
of summer incense. 

I had little enough to do, for the people were 
too busy with pleasure to be at home: they 
wanted me to sit on the cliffs with books and 
take a rest — on a salary. 

But there came calls to preach on some of 
the outlying islands to which I was carried 
on different Sunday afternoons in a launch. 

Then they all left us, tanned, virile, rested: 
the whole community took itself to % the decks 
of the island steamers and was carried to the 
trains. The tennis courts were closed. The 
shutters were fastened over the display win- 
dows of the flower stand. Many pews were 
empty in my little, rustic church. The flowers 
and shrubs were bedded in straw. Soon the 
snow and frost and bleakness of winter would 
spread over the island. My second pastorate 
ended, too, for I had received a call to supply 
a larger church much nearer to the Seminary, 
a church where I intended to preach after my 
graduation from the Seminary. 



[247] 



Chapter XXVIII. How a Par- 
sonage Suggests a Wife. The 
Convincing Revelations of a Phre- 
nologist JVho Examined the Stu- 
dents* Bumps 

ON the return to the Seminary, to enter 
upon my senior year, the first men 
I missed were Burner and Tucker, 
who had graduated the previous 
summer. Burner wrote me a very 
interesting letter from the precincts of a promi- 
nent New England university to the effect that 
he was a member of the junior class of that 
institution, that on Sundays he preached in a 
very delightful country town; that he was 
having a rich feast in college fare; the courses 
in animal psychology, metaphysics, especially 
in relation to the fundamentals of faith, holding 
the fullest fascination for him. Tucker, able 
at last to do a preacher's work, not only to his 
own personal taste, but also to the gratifica- 
tion of his parish, was giving himself, sacrifi- 
cially, to the work of dignifying the life of the 
people who had called him. He wrote me that 

[248] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

he felt his special work in life to have two phases 
to it: that he should remain unmarried in order 
that, like a monk, he could do God's work with 
singleness of purpose, and that he should go only 
to struggling, discouraged parishes where the 
small salaries and the hardships formed a suffi- 
cient missionary challenge: parishes in which 
he should labor until they were transformed and 
able finally to pay a salary on which a permanent, 
married man could settle among them and give 
them the fullest, freest service. 

"I am setting myself," concluded Tucker, 
"to be a mortgage-lifter, parsonage-getter, and 
salary-raiser for other ministers who are to 
follow me!" 

The parish to which I ministered during my 
last year in the Seminary, and in which I planned 
to settle immediately upon graduation, was in 
a seaport town of a quaint type: buried back 
in the rugged coast lines of the Atlantic. The 
Embargo Act had been like the chilling breath 
of petrification on the East Indiamen, the Cey- 
lon traders, the China brigs, and the many 
other ships which had gone out from its port. 
The wharves to which of old time these sea- 
rovers had been tied when in port had rotted 
until, in my day, the water-front was outlined 
by their black, damp, soggy ruins. Here and 
there, outside the precincts of the town, half 
buried among young saplings and deep grasses, 
could be seen the piles and planks of a once 

[249] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

stout wharf. In the village itself, almost every- 
thing pointed, with an index finger, to the past 
as the scene of the town's glory. The hotel 
in which I stayed, in stage-coach days had been 
a tavern, and from the porch of it the landlord, 
wearer of a blue military coat with brass but- 
tons, had fed the wild birds and pigeons. The 
house had an office-boy who was seventy odd 
years old, a man whose clothes and speech were 
tinctured with reminiscences of the sea and the 
past glory of the village. As one tipped back in 
one of the hundred-year-old chairs, which were 
whittled, by loungers' pocket knives, to skele- 
tons of rungs and seats, one saw slow-pacing 
oxen, nodding their heads in two-four metro- 
nomic time, pulling loads of sun-dried, salted 
codfish from the outdoor driers to the packing 
factory. In the parlors, on the hillside, were 
many interesting relics of the past, left by the 
race of sea captains and ship-owners almost 
extinct. There were trinket boxes made from 
scented, oriental woods, and little Ceylon gods 
of brass and porcelain. There were Japanese 
ivories and vases and draperies. There were 
ebony ornaments from savage islands and carved 
novelties, the product of barbarous intelligence. 
The old families, remaining in the village, 
were of that splendid Puritan sort who serve 
God with mind, heart, and purse, and while 
the older men and women remained at home, 
the sons and daughters, blessed with their herit- 

[250] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

age, had gone out into the world to do no small 
share of the brilliant and serviceable tasks for 
which honor and wealth are given. When the 
bells on the two churches rang, on Sunday 
mornings, one waited for the other, so that they 
might ring in antiphonal brotherhood, seeming 
to say, "Good morning," and to reply, "Good 
morning," in praise of the doctrinal harmony in 
the parishes where, in the by-gone years, oppos- 
ing pulpits had been girt about with demoniac 
lightnings and surmounted by the wild-eyed 
heresies of dethroned angels. 

In addition to the salary for my preaching, 
a white, green-shuttered, iridescent- windowed 
parsonage, perched on a summit of grass ter- 
races, stood ready, as my home, whenever I 
should want it; in other words, as members of 
my parish phrased it, "when I should bring 
Mrs. Priddy!" Now a twelve-roomed house, 
rent free, perched on grass terraces, guarded 
on one side by a syringa and on the other side 
by some red currant bushes, says nothing to a 
young bachelor theologue, about to graduate, 
but, "How about a wife?" As there was no 
ignoring such a house, there was no ignoring 
its consequent, — a wife. The two, like a 
"neither" and "nor," went together. Prob- 
ably that is why parishes generally see to it 
that there is a parsonage, especially where young 
ministers are concerned: that such a concrete 
suggestion will work on the mind and heart 

[251] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

of their minister, through the night hours with 
all the terror of an inescapable dream, in the 
day hours as a thing to be accounted for 
whether or no. There is, perhaps, no sugges- 
tion more haunting can befall a young, bachelor 
minister, than an unoccupied, Colonial parson- 
age, standing on a summit of terraces, unoccu- 
pied! If he rents it to outside parties, it is one 
way of saying to your parish, "I am too cowardly 
to marry!" If he permits it to remain empty, 
he has to spend many precious hours explaining 
to the church committee and their wives his 
good reasons for having it empty, and there 
are so few good reasons that the task is no 
desirable one. 

However, Destiny, using a strange mouth- 
piece, showed me a clear path in the matter. It 
came about in this wise. 

The lower floor, in the east wing of Therenton 
Hall, at the Seminary, was devoted to social 
purposes. It was the meeting-place of the 
students immediately after supper, where all 
sorts of recreations were indulged. A song, a 
piano solo, a burlesque, or a bit of clever mimicry 
was usually in order in that place. It was 
ostensibly a reading-room, where, on the tables, 
were to be found magazines of interest to theo- 
logical students. 

It was in this room where our freak visitors 
came to describe to us their specialties: men 
who came and tried to woo us from study to 

[252] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

strange, emotional cults; men who came and 
told us, to our faces, with prophetic fearless- 
ness of consequences, that by our alignment to 
the Seminary, and to any institution of learning, 
we were making ourselves heretics and out- 
casts. One evening, at the supper table, in 
Commons, Bobbett announced that "Professor 
Hoyle, a fellow that feels bumps, a phrenolo- 
gist, would be in the reading-room, ready to 
read our capabilities, our faults, and our des- 
tinies for twenty -five cents a head, special 
price to theological students from the usual 
fifty-cent rate. No satisfaction, no* pay!" 

Town lassies, in medieval Europe, never 
flocked to palm-reader or card-turner, with 
more curiosity or "pooh-poohing," than did we. 
On the way through the yard, the same criti- 
cal faculties which we had brought to bear on 
"hallucinations" and "superstitions" in our 
studies of psychology and savage religions were 
brought to bear upon our impending interview 
with "Professor Hoyle." Certainly the major- 
ity of us, by the time we had entered the parlor, 
were there on account of no other emotion than 
the wish to bring to bear on this man's acts 
our trained, critical, scientific acumen; though 
it cost us twenty -five cents ! 

The "professor" was waiting for us, a tall, 
slightly stooped, well-dressed young man. He 
made no claims, no speech. He merely said, 

"Come up, one following another, and after I 

[253] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

have examined you and made a note of my 
findings, I will write out each one's report on 
paper and if it does not suit, why none need pay." 
One after another then we filed into the chair 
and had those pliant, nervous, cold fingers steal, 
subtly, over our cranial topographies. Silently, 
quickly, skilfully, bumps that nature had placed 
on our skulls, and bumps that basketball and 
parallel bars had induced, were sorted out, 
interpreted, and their meanings put on a pad of 
paper, against our names. Then, after some 
moments of scratching, the "professor" handed 
each one of us his report. Laughingly they 
were received, laughingly they were perused, 
and then looks of startled wonder were the rule, 
for in some unaccountable way, the "pro- 
fessor" had managed to find strange true inter- 
pretations of us. He informed one student 
that if the latter had not planned to become a 
minister, he would have done well at mechanical 
engineering, a vocation in which the student 
had had some proficiency. There were some 
intimate revelations for each one of us, true ap- 
praisals of temperament, inclination, and habit. 
But it was the unknown things over which we 
smiled, the mysterious future, which we were 
ready to believe on account of the truthfulness 
with which he had told our present. Instantly 
the parsonage on the summit of grass terraces 
came into mind, as the last words of my phren- 
ological report read: 

[254] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Love: brown-haired young woman." 
I paid my quarter, willingly, and went to my 
room, linking an unknown, unnamed, intan- 
gible "brown-haired young woman" with the 
waiting parsonage. 



[255] 



Chapter XXIX. It Devolves 
upon me to Entertain a Guest 
and the Sentimental Consequences 
Tf^hich Ensued 

THEN, as if in conspiracy with the 
traveling phrenologist, the Seminary 
itself made "the brown-haired young 
woman," concrete, before my eyes. 
As the emotional revival had 
been the feature, the advertised feature of 
Evangelical University, so Lecture Week was 
the unique, advertised feature of the Seminary. 
As the Revival was doctrinal, controversial, 
and excessively unintellectual, so Lecture Week 
was undoctrinal, constructive, and preeminently 
intellectual. Lecture Week was, par excellence, 
one of the most inspiring intellectual treats of 
a week's duration to be found within the bounds 
of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. For the 
special lecturers of the year pooled interests 
and appeared together. These lecturers were 
preeminent men drawn from the ranks of high- 
est achievement: specialists of high, world-wide 

[256] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

repute on preaching, social service, and belles 
lettres. They were men for whose speech and 
thought any student would gladly put aside 
treatises on oratory and explanations of social 
movements and interpretations of literature, 
and give himself entirely into their safe-keeping. 
Three words were inscribed over those pre- 
cious, inspiring weeks: "Golden Speech," 
"Ripe Thoughts," and "Impressive Person- 
alities!" Students were never the same in 
ambitions after the lecturers had shuffled their 
notes into their leather pouches and left: I had 
one student preach for me the Sunday follow- 
ing one such week, and there, before the eyes of 
my parishioners, some of whom had been in 
attendance on the lectures, appeared an excel- 
lent facsimile of the noted divine who had given 
the course on preaching; the student stroked 
back his hair exactly as the noted man had 
done, he leaned over the pulpit in perfect 
accord with the latter's peculiar and distin- 
guishing trait; even some of his climaxes and 
intonations of voice followed those used by the 
famous preacher in his most forceful oratorical 
moments. I think this student was not alone 
among those who played the sedulous ape to 
the Lecture Week speakers. I know that 
more than once I caught myself thinking that 
probably a change in method to that of Dr. 
Gladden's conversational ease might impress 
my audience a la Dr. Gladden. 

[257] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

During that week the Seminary became a 
generous host to the country ministers, not 
only sending the poorer ones an urgent invita- 
tion to the feast, but following very closely that 
gospel which urges one to go out into the high- 
ways and compel them to come, for she aided 
some by railway fares, helped others by having 
the fares reduced, and when she had them into 
the city, gave them free lodgings in the dormi- 
tory and in the gymnasium, with students for 
chambermaids and professors for general man- 
agers of departments. 

The result, in my senior year, for Lecture 
Week, was inspiring. The heroic preachers 
from the isolated parishes, who in true poverty 
and in chastity of heart hold up God's light 
amidst a darkened, back way, came to us in 
their brushed-up frayed frock coats and white 
percale ties to find themselves somewhat sur- 
prised at the city ministers, who not only did 
not wear white ties during the week-days, but 
had even left their frock coats at home to appear 
on the campus more like doctors on holidays 
than sedate ministers of the gospel. However, 
in heart, neither frock nor sack coats made a 
difference, for it was astounding how boyish and 
playful the faces of both city ministers and 
country missionaries became in the interim of 
lectures, or at night when in the midnight 
hours some sedate man would get out of his cot, 
skulk past the snoring brethren who were arrayed 

[258] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

in a row on the cots in the gymnasium, and 
either by rolling a thundering bowling ball at 
the pins, or by some other act of deliberate 
mischief, awaken Babel! 

Morning, afternoon, and evening the city 
people united with the seminary members in 
crowding the lecture hall; school-teachers, 
women's clubs, college professors and college 
students, librarians, esthetic clerks, intellec- 
tually inclined mill-workers, doctors, lawyers, 
and church people, — these were in evidence 
always, for the lecturers' names, and the three 
poles of their thought — religion, soqal service, 
and letters — made a universal appeal. In fact, 
it must have somewhat embarrassed the speakers 
to have been called in to lecture to theological 
students and find before them all the Gentiles 
of the city. In any case, the speakers who had 
been so uninformed as to head each separate 
lecture, whether on "The Pastor in his Study," 
"The Turmoil in Society," or "The Supremacy 
of Browning over the Saxon Heart," with the 
usual, "My Dear Young Men," were compelled, 
on appearing, to make it read, "The Citizens of 
this City, Visiting School-teachers and Pro- 
fessors, the Faculty and my Dear Young Friends 
of the Seminary! Ahem!" and then go ahead 
and wonder how the Barbarians would be inter- 
ested in what was intended for the Greeks! 
It was, in all, a reincarnation of a medieval 
monastery acting as light-bringer, with this 

[259] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

difference, that the Seminary's light was a Wels- 
bach burner and no smoky fish-oil one that made 
a fog! 

The visiting clergymen who had overrun 
the privacy of the Seminary left, and the 
parishes in the back places were to ring with 
the echoes of Lecture Week, and from many 
and many a dried-up well in the mind and 
heart of a minister who had never had money 
enough for timely books or visits to inspiring 
conferences, was to be flowing living, leaping 
water for months after. One missionary pastor, 
however, had been left within the precincts of 
the Seminary, a missionary whose work lay 
far back from the railroad, amidst the heavy, 
drifted snow roads in winter and amidst the 
serenity of the isolated hills and fields in sum- 
mer; a missionary preacher who had been to 
a college, but not a theological seminary, and 
one who evidently strongly believed in equal 
suffrage — for this minister was a "brown- 
haired young woman." She attended our classes 
in company with an elderly woman student 
and was present when our homiletical profes- 
sor, to make his instruction clear as to how 
we should engineer a wedding, took a long 
and short man, called one the bride and the 
other the groom, and had them plight their 
troth before us, ex more. 

One evening I sat at a supper table in the 
family hotel to where I had transferred my appe- 

[260] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

tite, when I was surprised to see the busy little 
woman manager guide the "brown-haired young 
woman" over to my table and say, without a 
lift of the brow, as she came, 

"She is a minister and you are to be a min- 
ister, I think you ought to sit at the same 
table!" 

She left the young woman sitting opposite 
me at the table, not being aware that we were 
strangers to each other. But there we were, 
and it seemed as if the phrenologist's ghost 
must have been wandering near, though by 
that time I had put his report oui^ of mind 
entirely. 

Suddenly it was rumored about the Semi- 
nary that I had in charge the entertainment 
of our guest, the missionary, and students 
stumbled over us in the most unexpected 
places, as we took our walks over the city. 
Curious persons began to speak about the 
usefulness of a wife who could herself take to 
the pulpit! It was even reported about the 
Seminary that some day she would be writing 
my sermons! 

When the missionary had returned to her 
parish a sharp watch was kept over the mail 
box at the foot of Therenton Hall stairway, for 
it was expected that probably some corre- 
spondence would take place between the mis- 
sionary and myself. Some letters did pass 
between us, though those from the missionary 

[261] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

conveyed to me the fact, expressed in clear, 
unequivocal language, that she was wedded to 
her mission and felt that her whole life and 
sympathy belonged to her people, despite any 
personal wishes of her own. The matter had 
reached that stage when examination and grad- 
uation week drew near, a time which brought 
suffering with it. 



[2621 



Chapter XXX. A Heretic Hunter. 
The Orthodoxy of the Seminary 
Admirably Defended. I Contract 
a Fashionable Disease f , and also 
Receive a Very Unsettling Letter 

THE fifty-year old elms are budding; 
the shapely Norway maples are 
bursting into May leafing; the sun, 
after having melted away the ice 
and packed snow in the north cor- 
ners, is now pouring down over the sloping 
field in front of the dormitory porch; the snow 
shovels which the students have used through 
the snowy winter months in clearing gridirons 
of paths — a task which they have chosen by 
lot — these tools of winter have been packed 
away in remote corners of the vaulted cellar. 
There is a slack fire kept in the stoves, a 
sure sign of a seminary spring. One or two bi- 
cycles are seen leaning against the steps of the 

[263] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

chapel, waiting for their owners to come from 
class and take a ride over the hills. Nature 
has set the campus for loafers, but the pro- 
fessors have chosen the dramatic month of May 
for the hard grind of final examinations! Just 
about this time the students begin to debate 
very seriously on this matter, of acute inter- 
est — to them: "Resolved: That Examinations 
Do Not Gauge the Mental Fitness of a Stu- 
dent," and substantiate their proposition by 
the following proofs: 

"That examinations induce nervousness, pro- 
hibiting the student from actually expressing 
what is actually in his mind. 

"That all knowledge cannot be put on paper, 
for it is possible for a man to profit by study 
and yet not be able to give proof of it when 
asked. 

"That examinations depend upon memory: 
that all students are not perfect in memory — " 
and the many other usual arguments which 
examinations, from the earliest times, must have 
had against them. 

But, in the Seminary, these examinations on 
paper, while almost decisive, were supplemented 
by oral examinations, made in public, with full 
liberty given to any visitors, especially visiting 
ministers, to ask questions. Immediately it 
is seen what a heresy-hunting, heretic-discover- 
ing opportunity these oral examinations gave: 
for if ever a study has brought men's thumbs 

[264] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

into the screw and men's necks into nooses, and 
caused the suspicions of men to flame into 
white heat, has it not been Theology? 

For two years I had sat with my fellow 
victims in the little chapel where our hymns of 
praise and our prayers had been wont to ascend. 
Class by class we sat, the lower classes unim- 
portant in dramatic possibilities because they 
were to be examined merely on Hebrew and 
Church History, and surely it would have taken 
a persecutor with a keener nose than Hilde- 
brand or a Scotch vestryman to cull a heresy 
on the Trinity or the Virgin Birth fr^om a hiphil 
or a hophal or a padrigram with a kamets- 
hhatauph in it! In fact, after a minister has 
been away from the Seminary a few years, he 
attends these oral examinations in Hebrew, 
merely to nod his head at the recital of every 
jot and the pronunciation of every drunken 
row of consonants, as if it were a matter of 
every-day understanding with him, and needed 
no comment! At least, it seemed so to me as I 
watched during my first experience as a par- 
ticipant in an oral examination in Hebrew. 
Neither is there much of a chance for heresy- 
hunting in Church History, for is it not, in 
itself, a record of heresy after heresy? But 
"the senior class in Theology!" The mere 
announcement of such an event is enough to 
lure from his tombs every theological ragger 
who ever drew breath. Think of the chance: 

[265] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

to be given carte blanche with eight young stu- 
dents who are ready to be quizzed on their 
theology! 

The senior class sit in their students' chairs 
hardly comprehending what they face. Per- 
haps because they are young and have a cer- 
tain amount of bel esprit, in any case, they sit 
ready; each one ready to take up arms in de- 
fense of the orthodoxy of the seminary of that 
present year against the orthodoxy of the sem- 
inary forty, fifty, or fifty-eight years ago; a 
clash which may have in it every element of 
theological tragedy. That there may be need 
of it is clear, for in the second settee of visitors 
sits a white-haired, stern-faced minister, who 
had stopped progress before Darwin wakened 
the world, or ever First Isaiah was said to have 
a double, or before such startling queries as 
"What Sage Influenced the Psalter?" and 
"Did the Code of Hammurabi Help Moses?" 
began to be made. He antedates those novel- 
ties : is strongly entrenched, unwilling to lend his 
ear to them lest Zion's song be not heard. Tra- 
ditions of this man have been handed down to 
the seniors, who now sit ready for his ringing 
challenge. They know he is waiting eagerly 
for them, to follow every word, every answer 
that has in it any deviation from the straight 
doctrine of his senior year! 

The examination begins. First the profes- 
sor asks some questions that will indicate the 

[266] 



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range and character of his instruction. The old 
man jots down something in a note-book, which 
he holds in his hand, for he is experienced in 
these matters. Then the cross-examination en- 
sues. The old minister asks, first of all, in a 
bewildered voice, 

"Do you mean to say, young gentleman, 
that the first sin was not done in the Garden 
of Eden, as exactly recorded? Does the Semi- 
nary teach that?" 

The student replies, at length, showing, in 
terms of modern research and science, exactly 
what he means: that he has not denied the 
terrible fact of sin nor of its penalties, etc. 

But, in the audience sit some younger men, 
recently graduated, who, by skilfully injected 
questions, deflect examination into construc- 
tive and spiritual channels, bringing out from 
the students the rich faith that they have 
to preach and the helpful doctrine that they 
mean to proclaim to men, and the examination 
closes with only one man imagining that faith 
is on its last legs through too much wisdom. 

These parlous times of test, of trial were ap- 
proaching for me, and I had my class note-books 
in order on my desk, for a review, when one morn- 
ing I awoke suffering agony from the then fashion- 
able ailment — appendicitis; just at a time when 
the papers were reporting that some Philadel- 
phia society women were compelling doctors to 
operate on them as a new fad! The student 

[267] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

across the hall opened his medicine-closet and 
made me a very stout and vigorous mustard 
plaster; but that did not avail. Then the doc- 
tors were asked in and gave out the news that 
I should have to be operated upon immedi- 
ately. Visions of graduation melted in thin 
air. While a carriage was secured, I dictated 
two short letters, not knowing whether they 
would be my last. Then I had my friend read 
me a letter which the missionary had sent. It 
was a letter to the effect that she felt that our 
personal feelings should be put aside in order 
that she might devote herself to God's work. 
It pleaded that we should bring our corre- 
spondence to an end, in order not to heighten 
the tragedy to which the matter had reached. 
The words were like knife blades driven deep, 
and causing a pain more acute than that physical 
pain which had brought me next door to death. 
As the students carried me downstairs and 
put me in the carriage, they saw my face con- 
torted and purple with physical agony. 



[268] 



Chapter XXXI. How Some of 
the foys of Friendship Came to 
me in the Tower Room. "The 
Orator in the White Vest. How 
Soon I Lost my Diploma x 

FROM the ether cone which a house 
surgeon had held over my nostrils I 
breathed unconsciousness and peace. 
I awoke in a tower room, with a 
semi-circle of bright windows letting 
in the morning sun on me, and with a quiet- 
motioned, white-capped nurse watching me as 
I struggled free from grim dreams and tried 
to regain my right mind. The merest turn of 
the eyes toward the low windows permitted me 
to see the May day outside: a day in which 
salmon fishers came in boats up the river and 
patiently, skilfully lured giant fish from the 
deep waters to their bags. 

The little, bare room was soon colored with 
gifts of flowers from friends in my parish, 
from my classmates in the Seminary, and from 

[269] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

the missionary. Letters of consolation and good 
cheer, visits from the president of the Seminary, 
who told me not to fret about examina- 
tions, because I should graduate, and cheering 
minutes with my class friends took the edge 
from my suffering. One morning a delegation 
of little children came bashfully into the room, 
and after standing in a row before me, each 
waiting for the other to speak, — for they rep- 
resented the children whom I had organized in 
the mission church, two years before, — one of 
them, a little girl, stepped forward and with a 
quick thrust put on my white coverlet a paper 
bag, saying: 

"Mr. Priddy, we're sorry you're sick and hope 
you'll soon be well. We chipped in for those 
and hope you'll like 'em, please." 

When they had left the room, the nurse opened 
the bag and discovered one half dozen maxi- 
mum-ripened bananas. 

But graduation! Should I be in the hospital 
while my classmates enjoyed the festivities, 
the sobering joys, the inspiration of that event? 
The doctor, who with his trail of a clinic exam- 
ined me each morning, had been given a word by 
the President, for though a stern man in appear- 
ance and very blunt in speech, he would turn, half 
fiercely, in mock ferocity to my nurse and say, 

"This young man must be ready for the sixth 
of June. Remember, he is not to be in this 
place on that day!" 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

Though he never smiled as he said this; yet 
because he said it I imagined him as the best 
friend I had ever called friend, for the sixth of 
June was the day of graduation! 

From the fragments of news which came to 
me, day by day, I knew that the Seminary was 
shaping itself for the graduation exercises. The 
oral examinations had been held; the visiting 
alumni had met for their annual meeting; the 
reception, in one of the professors' homes, had 
been given; and on the morrow, in the evening, 
my classmates would stand before the pulpit 
in the brick church while the President handed 
them their diplomas. 

Graduation morning found me shaved, expec- 
tant and nervous, sitting at one of the windows 
watching a little girl cruelly strip a tiny sapling 
of its first glorious flowers. Suddenly the nurse 
came into the room, with a knowing smile, and 
said that there was a stranger to see me! 

There followed the scrape of a foot along the 
rubber-carpeted corridor and into the room, 
dressed in demure black, came the missionary! 
She had followed the leading of her heart and 
had come down to cheer me on for graduation, 
for a strange dream had come to her the night 
I had been smitten down, a dream that came 
before any news of my illness had reached her, 
in which some spirit of warning had whispered 
that I was suffering, in danger of my life ! Then 
the mail had brought her the truth, and there 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

she stood before me to share the honors of the 
day sympathetically with me. 

By ten o'clock two classmates rattled into 
the hospital yard in a carriage; came into my 
room, their arms loaded with my best clothes. 

"You've got to graduate with us!" they ex- 
claimed. " We've been together through the 
years, and we can't afford to have the line broken 
now!" 

One half hour later, supported by them, I 
was placed in the carriage and carried trium- 
phantly to my room in the dormitory, where I 
was to remain quiet and patient until evening, 
when I should go down to the brick church for 
my diploma! 

From the lofty height of my dormitory 
window I could look down on the house-tops 
of the city and see the hazy hills far, far against 
the distant sky-lines. I could also look down 
between the veil of elm leaves and see the pro- 
cessions of visitors and the hurrying forms of 
my classmates, as they passed over the tar 
walk, under the shady arch of the trees towards 
the gymnasium, where a banquet was to be 
served in honor of my class. 

There was a clatter outside my door, and the 
classmate who had been chosen to deliver the 
speech for us in the gymnasium appeared in 
my doorway with a hearty, 

"How do I look, Priddy?" 

No groom ever did better with a frock coat, 

[272] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

a white, flowered vest, a brilliant tie, and neatly 
combed hair, and I told him so. He then left 
me for the momentous occasion in which he was 
to figure after dinner, when he would stand up 
at the head of all the tables, strike his pose, and 
in his best manner — with an incidental throw- 
ing back of his frock coat to display his grand 
white vest — give the felicitations, the thanks, 
the hopes, and ideals of our class. 

So I sat apart from the revelry of the day, 
with a beating, thankful heart, waiting for the 
arrival of evening. After supper a student came 
into the room, fitted me into the best*collar that 
I had, fastened the groomish, white silk tie 
skilfully about it, put the golden links into my 
new cuffs, and then helped me insert myself 
into my new frock coat! 

"There," he cried, stroking the front of my 
coat and then standing back for the effect, "I 
think you are ready to be escorted down to the 
church by the missionary; she will meet you 
in the reception-room. Good luck to you, 
Priddy!" 

I was so faint that I walked through the great 
congregation of visitors and friends as through 
a blur. I took my seat in the front of the 
church with my classmates and saw only the 
array of palms and flowers on the communion 
table. I needed to marshal every ounce of nerve 
and strength in order to get through the service 
without accident. A terrible fear rushed into 

[273] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

my heart, as my head kept whirling like a top 
and leaving me exhausted, a fear that I should 
tumble from my seat and spoil the exercises. 

One after another of my classmates crowded 
past me, ascended to the pulpit, and delivered 
his speech. Next my name on the program, 
and the subject of the speech on which I never 
wrote, was a star, followed by the note: "Ex- 
cused on account of illness." 

After the addresses, the President came down 
from the pulpit throne and we stood lined up 
before him, with the vast audience at our backs. 
I could not listen to the words of parting that 
our mentor gave us, for I felt every minute that 
I should tumble back like a stricken nine- 
pin; bowled over by my insufficient strength. 
Sweeps of pain, of cold and heat went through 
me like differing winds. Slowly, ever so slowly, 
the diplomas were handed us, seeming to take 
a day or more, and every minute I felt like 
stopping the solemn service and asking to be 
allowed to go back to my seat. 

Finally the last of the diplomas were given, 
we turned our faces to the congregation, walked 
nervously back to our seats, and waited for the 
exercises to be concluded. 

The organ thundered its exultant recessional, 
the people crowded into the aisles and inter- 
cepted us as we struggled through, seeking out 
sweethearts, friends, parents, whose congratu- 
lation we sought first. The missionary was 

[274] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

waiting for me near an exit door, anxious for 
me, as I saw by her face. I had just shown her 
my diploma, with its blue silken bow, when 
suddenly the Dean tapped me on the shoulder 
and politely requested my diploma, saying, 

"You may have it again, Mr. Priddy, 
after you have completed your deferred 
examinations!" 



[275] 



Chapter XXXI L How, "Though 
I was Ready for Service, I was 
Forestalled by a New Trouble ', 
and the Very Interesting Plan 
Which Came Out of it 

THEN the reward of the years came 
to me: I had my whole time to 
give to my parish, I had my home 
in the parsonage and a wife — the 
"brown-haired young woman" — 
to preside over it. Though Evangelical Uni- 
versity had nurtured narrow, dogmatic, and dis- 
contented versions of faith in me, and though 
the first months of instruction in the Seminary 
had witnessed the destruction of these versions 
of faith, finally had come the larger world 
of faith, without narrow bounds, with deeper 
reaches and a much brighter sky. Like Burner, 
I had been called upon to pass through skep- 
tical valleys, and to climb over high walls 
which bruised the spirit, but it was only to 
climb to the top of a lofty faith, at last, in 

[276] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

which I seemed to behold the world of men, 
spite of their common sins, tending towards the 
central place — God's garden. I felt that I 
could go into the pulpit and preach on themes, 
which instead of arousing the hostility of men, 
as the doctrine of Evangelical University seemed 
destined to do, would by their breadth, opti- 
mism, and freedom from Phariseeism win the 
repentant consent of men. I had gone into the 
Seminary tutored by Evangelical University to 
be afraid to let the sun shine on religion's chief 
doctrines, I had come from the Seminary believ- 
ing that the flood of light intensified % the beauty 
of religion. So, at last, I had the opportunity 
of testing on community life this doctrine which 
comforted me with an inexpressible comfort. I 
bent to my work, with my wife at my elbow, as 
proud of my chance as any king called suddenly 
from obscurity to a kingdom. 

I occupied a study whose front window over- 
looked the trees and gave me an excellent view 
of the sailing ships and steamers which dotted 
the bay. I had my typewriter in one corner, 
my desk in the centre of the room, and an 
abundant supply of manuscript paper on which 
I intended writing years and years of sermons 
for that parish. 

One day, in spring, my wife insisted that I con- 
sult a specialist about a throat affliction which 
had been interfering with my parish duties. I 
sought one out and had him make a thorough ex- 

[277] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

amination of me. Gravely he plied his tools and 
searched my throat, and gravely he announced, 

"You will have to bring your pastoral work 
to an end, sir. Your throat will have to be 
cared for. You must go, immediately, to a 
dry climate, among the high hills, and use your 
throat for a year or two with great economy. 
That is all. There is no better remedy." 

I gazed on him with startled eyes. 

"But I've just got settled down," I insisted. 
"I have no money saved. I have just married. 
Is there no other remedy?" 

"None," he replied, "I am sorry to say. 
You will have to do as I prescribe or lose your 
voice altogether. It is very serious." 

Late that afternoon I appeared before my 
wife. She had been planting some old-fashioned 
flowers in the garden. She saw by my down- 
cast countenance that I had bad news. 

"What has he told you?" she enquired. 
"Don't quibble with me, please!" 

"We'll have to say good-bye to this place," 
I began, miserably. "It's all at an end: this 
fine dream!" 

"Have to leave?' 5 she echoed, faintly. "Is 
that it?" 

Then I reported to her what the specialist 
had told me. 

"And we've planted the garden!" I concluded. 
"We shan't be able to stay here long enough to 
reap it!" 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

There followed some moments of silence, 
during which the full shock of the news had time 
to hurt her, and then she proved herself to be 
one in that sisterhood of wives who in proposing 
a comfortable escape from a domestic difficulty 
bravely commit themselves to hardships: for 
she said, with a smile, 

"There, now, this will give you a chance to 
get to college!" 

I looked at her with great astonishment. 

"But we cannot afford to go to college," I 
protested. 

"Oh, can't we?" she smiled, "^ell, I sup- 
pose it may be possible for you to get a little 
church to supply near a college, and I will 
stay at home through the week, keeping an eye 
on the parish work while you study for your 
degree." 

"I had never thought of that!" 

"You will have to be idle if you go to a parish, 
you might as well use your time in getting a 
college degree," she insisted. 

In two weeks' time I had written to the Dean 
of an old New England college, of great reputa- 
tion, and, on the strength of my seminary study, 
was informed that I should be eligible to enter 
the junior class at the college the following 
fall. With that matter settled, I soon learned 
that I might supply a country church, some 
miles from the college, and let my wife occupy 
the parsonage. The financial end of college 

[279] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

thus concluded, I resigned from the church: 
the church in which all the sentimental ties of 
student days, ordination, and marriage were 
merged. 

An old seaman came and boxed my household 
goods, and as he worked, tried to blunt the sting 
of the task by reciting to me in great detail, 
how Moses, after becoming the wisest man 
among the Egyptians, likewise became the 
greatest war general of his time. 

"How is that?" I asked. 

"Well, you see," said the seaman, "the 
'Gyptians was alius goin' over the sands of the 
desert to battle, and the sands of the desert was 
filled with biting snakes, and the men died by 
whole companies from the glare of the sun, so 
Moses, he invented some red umbrellas and 
give one to every soldier and took 'em onto 
the blazing, snake-ridden floor of the desert. 
Result was, when the snakes seen the glaring 
umbrellas they was scart off, and the men was 
covered from the hot blaze of the sun, and went 
into other lands and won big victories under 
that same Moses!" 

"Where did you learn that?" I asked, in 
great curiosity. 

He mumbled the name of some strange- 
sounding history, and then returned to his work, 
for which I was paying him twenty cents an 
hour. That legend had cost me fifteen cents; 
it had taken him a full three quarters of an 

[280] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

hour to recount it with its frills and the many 
interjections. 

Then my wife and I, feeling like the first man 
and woman leaving Eden, bade a tearful good- 
bye to the house, to the parish, and went forth 
to a new educational adventure, one that would 
have its own peculiar hardships, pain, and 
pleasures. 



[2811 



Chapter XXXIII. Of a Vil- 
lage where Locomotive TVhistles 
Sounded like Lingering Music: of 
the Rsthetic Possibilities in a Col- 
lege Catalogue: of a fourney over 
the Hills to the College where we 
find, besides a Wonderful Array 
of Structures y a Large Room and 
the funior with his Barnful of 
Furniture 

TO a bird the north New England 
hill country whither our adventure 
took us might have resembled in 
shape a crumpled pie crust. In 
one of the depressions lay our new 
parish: the horizons high and lifted up by 
reason of the hills which girt it closely about. 
All the exits from the village were over roads 

[282] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

that sloped upward. Only the river had an 
even course as its shallow body bruised itself 
in rushing over the sharp, white rocks which 
tried to hold it back. 

The village was composed of groups of neatly 
painted cottages branching from an elm-shaded 
green around which stood the town buildings: 
the drab-painted pillared church, the post- 
office and general store, the glaring red brick 
townhouse, the mill-like school building, the 
parsonage, the doctor's residence, the post- 
master's house, and the farm of the first select- 
man. 

The two fine contributions to the national 
reputation that a majority of our parishioners 
were sending into the markets, were golden 
bars of butter and finely-fed beef. Very 
quietly the people were giving themselves to 
these tasks, having but little touch with the 
great world outside. 

It was difficult for me, in the midst of such 
rustic peace and isolated civilization, to realize 
that twelve miles back of the hills lay a famous 
college whose traditions had gone out into 
every part of the country during the century 
and a half of its existence. Its name had been 
reverently spoken in so far away a place as 
Evangelical University. The history of the 
United States can not be written without men- 
tion and eulogy of some of its noted graduates. 
During those July days, while we were estab- 

[283] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

lishing our household goods in the parsonage, 
I caught myself sniffing the east wind, as if 
eager to slake my curiosity by catching the 
flavor of the college. My enthusiasm was un- 
bounded over the possibility of at last attaining 
unto a college education: the trade-mark of 
American culture. My wife and I had prom- 
ised ourselves to drive over the hills as soon 
as the house had been established, so that 
together we might have our first view of the 
institution and that I might confer with the 
dean and arrange my schedule of studies for 
the first term. I waited impatiently for that 
day to come. 

Meanwhile, during the lulls in house settling, 
I took the college catalogue and selected a 
course of studies. It was an enticing feast 
before which I sat: I felt like a lad having to 
choose from fifteen nectar flavors of ice cream, 
only the courses of study from which I had 
the privilege of choosing went into the hun- 
dreds. Almost every theme of my desire was 
spread before me; explorations into literature, 
social life, fine arts, science, language, and 
economics. Old yearnings could be abundantly 
gratified at last: a formidable list of professors 
and a more formidable list of studies awaited 
my option. Evangelical University had given 
me the foundations of an education, the Semi- 
nary had given me the technical knowledge of 
my profession, at last I had come to the studies 

[284] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

that should broaden my outlook, extend my 
habits of thought beyond the narrow groove 
of my vocation, and link me to the great world- 
thought. I put down Italian so that at last 
I might, with my own ears, hear Dante speak 
to me through his euphonious and inspired 
Cantos, and I chose a course in which Goethe 
should at last be met face to face. I also deter- 
mined to test my theology in a science course 
to find out for myself if God and the forces of 
Nature were actually engaged in undying war- 
fare. I chose, also, a course in composition, 
which had in it all the lure towards ^authorship 
and the fascination of literary creation. My 
technical studies in the Seminary had prepared 
me to secure from the college the highest in- 
spiration I should ever receive from books. 

Early in the month of August, my wife and I 
started from the village in a buggy for a drive 
over the hill roads to the college. My wife 
reminded me, during the drive, of the strange- 
ness of the situation: of the fact that five years 
previously she had received her degree from 
her alma mater and that she was now on the way 
to witness the matriculation of her husband. 
Midway on the route we drove through an 
abandoned village, past a once commodious 
church, a mill, and several houses, all storm 
bent and in forsaken ruin. We rode along 
sand-rutted highways which seemed to take 
us farther and farther away from living crea- 

[285] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

tures. We passed acres and acres of stumps 
showing where the axes and saws of woodsmen 
had left a permanent scar in the forestry of the 
back-roads. Then we emerged on the first 
street of a quaint, slumberous town whose green 
and drab-shuttered white houses hid demurely 
behind screens of elm and of maple. On the 
outskirts of this village we found ourselves on a 
sandy plain which sloped down towards a wide 
river. On the opposite bank, set like gleaming 
red and white flowers in a bed of green, were 
towers, windows, houses, chimneys: acres of 
them, a mile distant, scattered over a narrow 
elevated plain behind which rolled hills far 
to the North, to the East and to the South, 
their sky-lines lost in clouds. 

"It's the college!" I exclaimed, dropping the 
reins for further, excited contemplation. The 
patches of red and the hundreds of gleaming, 
sun-blazing windows, were dormitories and aca- 
demic halls. The white blotches were innumer- 
able houses surrounding the college buildings. 
One had to pick them out from the lavish 
clusters of shade trees whose leaves left cool, 
dark shadows on the buildings. 

Fifteen minutes later our horse had dragged 
us toilsomely up a steep roadway on either side 
of which were a few scattered houses, the out- 
posts of the college town, and brought us right 
into the midst of the college campus itself, a 
very green oasis surrounded by a hollow square 

[286] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

of college structures. Yes, the Fence was there, 
a double line of it with the grass worn off where 
Seniors' sacred feet had rubbed! just as in my 
boyish speculations I had always conceived a 
college with its Fence. Very near the green, 
too, lay a solid stone sarcophagus of a drinking 
fountain: just the sort which, in my boyish 
speculations and boyish reading, I had seen used 
for the baths of recalcitrant Freshmen and too 
obtrusive Sophomores. Over on the north 
side a snow-white meeting-house fronted us with 
a stiff, proud chest, and with its hexagonal 
bell-tower rising above the roof like the smoke- 
stack of a railway engine, made one expect to see 
it start puffing forward over the campus, with 
a very tiny, Greek-pillared vestry accompany- 
ing it, like a colt engine, destined, sometime 
later, perhaps, to grow into a meeting-house, 
like its companion. Across the street from 
where we had entered stood a brick tavern, 
under whose canopy an old coach waited 
equipped with glass doors, outside seats, and 
with thick leather straps to keep the pliant 
springs from sending the body of the coach 
leaping off the wheels at the "thank-you- 
ma'ams." To the left we discovered a huge 
square brick structure with a fenced-in roof 
faced by a spacious walled-in porch, with pillar- 
supported roof which, we learned, was the 
combined college club and commons. 

Screened by the arching trees and massed in 

[287] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

companies of twos and threes, fives and sixes, 
were recitation halls, a Renaissance museum, 
a stone chapel, a power house, numerous dor- 
mitories, a snow-white observatory, a gymna- 
sium, and last, a stone tower crowning a knoll 
and dominating the campus. 

The dean gave me my papers, approved my 
courses of studies, and then sent my wife and 
me on an inspection of available dormitory 
rooms, for I should have to reside at the college 
six days out of seven. 

After the penury of Evangelical University 
and the quaint compactness of the Seminary, 
the broad acres, costly, comfortable buildings 
and lavish size of the college gripped my 
imagination. We threaded our way past a set 
of dormitories, through a wooded road, and 
entered a rustic park where Commencement 
festivities were held every June. We passed 
sedate rows of professorial residences fronted 
by hedges and smooth-clipped lawns. Over to 
the south we viewed a fenced-in athletic field; 
a mass of green with ovals and straightaways 
of black cinders, and with bleachers and a 
grandstand at one end: the place where, fully 
as much as in the college buildings, the culture 
of youth went on: the culture of health, of 
muscular skill, and of moral temper. 

A janitor — a young man with a broad fore- 
head and gentle ways — extracted a bunch of 
keys and showed us into a very old dormitory 

[288] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

where were single rooms, double rooms, quad- 
ruple and sextuple rooms; according to taste, 
but no room which met with my approval, 
especially when the dormitory bore such a 
sinister name as Demon Cottage, a corruption 
of Damon Cottage. The janitor, who turned 
out to be, himself, a graduate of the college, on 
learning that I was an aspirant for the ministry, 
promptly advised me to examine a room in the 
Christian Association building. This we did, 
and when he had guided my wife and me up 
three flights of stairs and thrown open the door 
of a massive, square room, with shop windows 
for light, I said, 

"Isn't this the college Socialistic Hall, or the 
band practise chamber?" 

"No, this is merely a double, dormitory 
room," he admitted. "Sixty dollars a year 
for each occupant with an extra bedroom over 
there and an enormous storeroom through that 
door." 

"Well," I concluded, after some discussion, 
"a flat-full of furniture would hardly furnish 
the center of the room, but there's sure to be a 
good circulation of air, and that is important. 
I think I'd better take it." 

When we returned to the campus we dis- 
covered a group of canvas-clad students punt- 
ing a football while a group of Freshmen, with 
eyes bulging out of their heads, looked on in 
worshipful wonder, for Ellis, Barton, and Chip- 

[289] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

man, three of the Varsity team, were in the 
advance guard of athletes engaged in early 
practise. 

The janitor had sent us to "Durritt's Barn" 
where, he informed us, we should be able to 
pick up a team load of dormitory furniture at 
second hand for very little money. "Durritt's 
Barn" was actually a barn attached to a pleasant 
little house which had been transformed, by a 
very energetic Junior, into a second-hand furni- 
ture store. The Junior, whose name I learned 
was Garden, presented himself from behind a 
bewildering mass of dusty rugs, topsy-turvy 
mission chairs, and sectional book shelves, and 
picked his way to us through a narrow aisle 
made by massed heaps of bedsteads, mat- 
tresses, chiffoniers, tables, and desks. When 
we expressed amazement at his business au- 
dacity in having such a mass of second-hand 
furnishings on his hands, he informed us that 
we had not seen it all and then he led us up a 
stairway to the loft where we discovered another 
heaped up mass of material. 

"I shall have it all sold by the time college 
has opened," said the Junior. "In fact, I shall 
not have enough for the demand." 

"Where do you get the furniture?" demanded 
my wife. 

"From the Seniors," replied Garden. "They 
sell it for next to nothing during Commence- 
ment. It is a profitable business — while it 

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lasts. It gives me an excellent chance for earn- 
ing my way through the college. Now, how 
would that iron bedstead suit you, for your 
room, Mr. Priddy, and that felt mattress, 
which goes with it: three dollars for the whole?" 

After informing him that he did not have in 
his stock a rug expansive enough to cover the 
floor of my spacious apartment in Association 
Hall, we compromised on a very limp, red 
carpet rug which would resemble a bandanna 
handkerchief when spread out on my room 
floor, but which was actually the broadest floor 
covering I could purchase. A half-hour later 
I paid twelve dollars and a quarter for the bed, 
the rug, a chair, a small book shelf, and a tied- 
together chiffonier with most of its brass handles 
missing. 

After having left the moving of the furniture 
in the hands of Garden, my wife and I were 
once more driving over those lonesome, sandy, 
rutted roads, in the midst of the profound 
silences of remote civilization. Again we passed 
through the deserted village. Two hours later 
we were back in the parsonage ready, next, to 
pack my trunk preparatory to the opening of 
college. 



[291] 



Chapter XXXI K My Wife 

Packs me off to College. "The 
Senior and I Stop at a Rock 
for a Drink y Meet the Advance 
Guard of Students, Plunge into a 
Bedlam , and Witness the Labors 
of the Freshmen. "The Finger-study 
of Quarks and my Apology Given 
to the Retired Medical Man who 
was Specializing in Hens 

ERE I am, in our honeymoon year, 
packing you off to college," com- 
mented my wife, as she folded 
some towels and handed them to 
me to put in my trunk. "It takes 
me back to the day when my mother did it for 




_ 99 

me. 



"And you're to have the hard end of the 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

business," I replied, "staying in this house 
alone and keeping an eye on the parish. Not 
much of a honeymoon to that through the long, 
winter days, while I am in the swirl of college 
events, with all the fellowship one can desire." 

"But there'll be holidays and Saturdays at 
home, for you," she answered. "I shall see 
you once a week at least, for you will have 
to preach here every Sunday. We're working 
together, now," she added, quietly. "If there's 
any suffering, any hardship, any self-denial in- 
volved, I am willing to undergo it, else I would 
not have married you!" 

In her voice ran an undertone of tragic feel- 
ing and for the first time I began dimly to 
realize, in the midst of my own opportunity 
for a college education, that in this little home, 
back over the hills, my wife would be waiting, 
and waiting, through the long hours of the 
day and night, for the two years' study to be 
at an end: the study which would break up our 
home and separate us during the first days of 
our married life. I vowed then to give it all up : 
to plunge into the pastoral work: to send word 
to the college dean that he must not expect me. 

"No, not that: not that!" protested my wife. 
"It is your chance, take it!" 

As I descended from my pulpit the following 
Sunday morning, I was introduced to a quiet 
youth who was recommended to me as a Senior 
in the college. That afternoon my new 

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acquaintance came down to the parsonage and 
willingly permitted me, in my curiosity, to 
question him concerning the traditions, the 
customs, and the personnel of the college. I 
asked him some very trivial and laughable 
questions, I remember, because, at the time, 
I had some very curious and perhaps too 
exalted notions concerning colleges, especially 
colleges of the high standard of the one in 
which I had just matriculated and to which I 
was to journey on the morrow. 

After our conversation, the Senior promised 
to call for me next day and escort me to the 
college: a proffer which I was glad to accept. 

That September Monday morning was a very 
pleasant one in the Northern country. The 
maple groves on the hill slopes made one think 
that God had let fall his color pots, for the 
leaves of the trees flamed with reds, with 
yellows, and with blacks. The mail wagon 
drove up to the parsonage door and collected 
myself, the Senior, and my trunk. My wife 
stood at the door telling me not to forget this 
and that, with true motherly solicitude. Then, 
with a dash through the dust, the wagon wheeled 
us on our way across the river to the train 
that should carry us to within four miles of 
college. 

The Senior said, as we changed at a junction, 

"The train that will get us to college does 
not go for some hours. Are you fit for a four 

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mile walk? We can eat lunch on the way. I 
have some in my suit case." 

I agreed that I was ready for the walk, so we 
left the town precincts by walking through a 
lumber yard. ■ 

Our travel took us over a cinder path between 
the ties and switch rods of a railroad. At the 
right, far below us, flowed a very wide and swift 
river, whose surface twinkled through the shields 
of pine and white birch which lined the bluff. 
Here we met several young men walking slowly 
and engaged in earnest conversation. 

"Those are students!" the Senior^ whispered, 
"out for a walk." 

When some mill whistles at a remote distance 
announced the noon hour, the Senior conducted 
me to a grove of stiff, tall pines where on the 
brown, fragrant needles he spread a lunch of 
sandwiches, jelly, and pears. 

Then we took up the walk again, passing on 
into the wilderness of trees and rushing river. 
At a turn in the track we came to a high cliff 
whose outer surface was stained with moss and 
glistened with dampness. The Senior stopped 
before a niche out of whose cool interior spouted 
a stream of ice-cold water, bringing to mind 
the rock which Moses struck with his wand and 
which slaked the thirst of the children of Israel. 

"Nearly every student who passes this way," 
the Senior announced, "gets a drink of this 
water." 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

Ten minutes later we walked into the station 
and I was amazed at the heaps of trunks that 
covered the platform. Drays were doing their 
best to reduce the pile by carting them away 
in enormous loads. As we made our way 
around the trunks there dashed into the station 
one of the coaches I had seen near the tavern 
on my previous visit; this time topped by a 
group of healthy-faced, shouting students, wear- 
ing tan shoes, flannel trousers, and flapping caps 
such as clowns, in the circus rings, wear with 
such comical effect. This coach was quickly fol- 
lowed by another, similarly loaded with students 
come down to greet the arrival of classmates 
and friends. 

At last I was able to realize the task that was 
on my hands if I were to fit into the college lif e, 
for scores of students passed us or trailed after 
us as the Senior and I walked up the hill. How 
should I ever succeed in remembering their 
names, in entering into the acquaintance of a 
small number of all those students? And the 
trains were bringing more! 

On top of the hill, just before entering the 
campus, some fraternity houses, lavishly ap- 
pointed, had their verandahs filled with students, 
singing snatches of songs and bantering one 
another. Then there flashed into view again, 
the campus and the business street, only on 
this occasion it was a far different campus and 
a very different business street from what I 

[2961 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

had seen on my previous visit. The side- 
walks were thronged with students, some lean- 
ing against shop windows, others sitting on 
steps, while others roamed along engaged in 
conversation. On the campus, keeping to the 
paths, were groups of Freshmen walking timidly 
enough past Sophomores in sweaters and neg- 
ligee attire and past Seniors in graver dress and 
mien. On the front lawn of a dormitory four 
neatly-dressed youths were beating rugs and 
as their energetic actions continued they were 
half smothered in the clouds of dust. 

"I should imagine that they would don 
rougher clothes while they dust rugs," I com- 
mented to the Senior. 

My companion smiled, knowingly, 

"They have no chance to change clothes," 
he replied. "They are Freshmen which some 
of the upper-classmen have picked up from the 
campus and compelled to do that work. It will 
be the Freshmen's turn, next year, however, so 
that it isn't much of an imposition. Now you'll 
see some fun. Watch that football man with 
the sweater!" 

The football man in the sweater had come 
out of the dormitory and had gone over to the 
Freshman who was working more energetically 
than his fellows, and said to him, 

"Say, Freshie, what're you sleeping on the 
job like that for, eh? Do you want the Sophs, 
to give you a black mark so soon?" 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

He glared with mock savagery at the be- 
wildered Freshman, who replied, 

"Please sir, I am working very hard, sir!" 

"If you call that work, then," stormed the 
football man, "I wonder what you do when you 
loaf? Die probably, eh?" 

"I thought, sir — " persisted the Freshman, 
but he was cut short by the football man who 
said, 

"Just carry that up to my room, put it 
straight, set the furniture in place, and then go 
to work and copy those marked extracts from 
the coach's note book which you'll find on the 
desk. Hurry and have it done in two hours' 
time!" 

As the football man ended those savage 
orders, he turned away with an amused smile 
and as he came towards us he winked and said 
to the Senior, 

"That young cuss's got the making of a fine 
kid in him, even if he is the son of a several 
hundred thousand dollar Senator. Just watch 
him make the dust fly! Ain't he a peacherino, 
though!" 

The Senior informed me, after the football 
man had strolled away, that the fagging was in 
full force just then and that the Freshmen took 
it in good humor, and, in fact, would have con- 
sidered themselves not actually at college had 
that feature been omitted. 

The different noises that filled the air made a 

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Babel. From dormitory windows came shouts, 
cornet practise, and various moanings which, 
at a quieter time, would have been differentiated 
as vocal trios and duets. Down the business 
street, from the upper floors where some of the 
fraternities had rooms, the sounds of clanging 
piano rag-time tried to merge with explosive 
bellowings of happy, singing fraternity men. 
On the College Club porch a jostling crowd of 
students could be seen, shaking hands, telling 
summer experiences, and knocking chairs about 
in the anxiety to get at one another. The shop 
windows were gay with college banners, souve- 
nirs, books, picture cards, college photographs, 
and sporting goods. 

I found the furniture I had purchased from 
Garden heaped before my door and a half -hour 
later I had it scattered lonesomely over the floor 
of my large room. From my open window I 
could look down on the stir of life on the campus. 
Night deepened, and with it came an increase, 
rather than a quieting of the noises, as if Youth 
were bound to have one last, gleesome frolic 
before the sedate masters of Books curbed their 
liberties. In the darkness of the night, sitting 
at the window, exactly as I had done at Evan- 
gelical University six years previously, I had an 
alien feeling as I listened to the sounds which 
soared up to my ears from the gloom below. 
Demon yells, demon howls of acute misery, 
throbbings of mandolin strings, the hoarse toot- 

[299] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

ing of a fish horn, a piercing falsetto voice under 
my window trying to sing, 

" 0,0,0! Dear, dear old days, love! " 

the clanging of a hand bell and intermittent re- 
volver shots. These were only a few of all the 
riot of sounds spreading through the night air, 
over the campus and bursting out of the dormi- 
tory windows on every side of me. While I sat 
wondering how a hundred or so of faculty could 
ever bring seriousness out of such a chaos of 
youthful energy, I heard a chug underneath my 
window as a truckman hurled a trunk to the 
sidewalk: my trunk. Immediately I went on 
the campus, discovered two Freshmen, and 
with all the abandon of a Junior that I could 
muster for the occasion, I coolly invited them 
to assist me in carrying the heavily loaded 
trunk up the three flights of stairs. So con- 
formed to the fagging custom were the Fresh- 
men, that when one of them unfortunately 
sliced his finger on a loose nail and I com- 
miserated him on it, he said, keeping his grip 
on the trunk, meanwhile, 

"Nothing at all, sir. Nothing at alh" 
Next morning the trio of bell chimes, in the 
tower of the college chapel, hurled clanging, 
throbbing scales-of -three over the quiet campus. 
Immediately from the doorways of dormitories, 
boarding clubs, and the Commons, appeared 
chatting groups of students who took the paths 

[300] 



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across the campus towards the first chapel serv- 
ice. From the North, the South, the East and 
the West they hurried; hundreds and hundreds 
of well-dressed youths, arm in arm or four and 
five abreast as they walked. 

The choir, transepts and gallery were soon 
crowded, almost to suffocation. The morning 
sun in trying to break through the windows 
into the dimness merely glorified the pictured 
saints, and prophets, shepherds and sheep. 
The gowned organist played a part of the grand 
finale of The Pilgrim's Chorus. The gowned 
figure of the President arose and stqpd silent a 
second while a wave of reverent stillness swept 
through the chapel. Scripture followed hymn, 
and a simple prayer was followed by a general 
confession. Then the organ burst into a tri- 
umphant recessional, and the students noisily 
crowded down the aisles into the open air. The 
day's work was begun, having had invoked on 
it the blessing from the Author of all Truth, 
and the Creator of that World which through- 
out the days and years, has had such fascina- 
tion for students and professors, of Science, of 
Art and Faith. 

In the confusion of the multitude of students, 
most of them strangers to me, I felt the futility 
of my social ambitions. In Evangelical Uni- 
versity and in the theological seminary I had 
been in the midst of small groups of students, 
whose names, characteristics and acquaintance 

[301] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

could be compassed in a few short weeks. 
But the vast procession of young men which 
blackened the greensward of the campus that 
morning dismayed me. It seemed that mere 
hand-shaking and saying to each individual 
member of it, "I am glad to know you!" would 
demand months and months of time. It was 
a new experience, too, after the simple democ- 
racy in my previous schools, to have those 
who were my classmates and college associates, 
pass me without a word of morning greeting, 
without a lift of the eyes. 

But that was only the first day! 

The second morning, as I sat in the chapel, 
I chanced to have my attention attracted by a 
curious fingering of paper. It was the student 
next to me who had some blank sheets of paper 
in his hands which he shuffled intermittently and 
over which he kept passing the ball of his fore- 
finger. The organ had not ceased its prelude, 
and the students had not ceased entering the 
chapel, so I paid a stricter attention to the 
strange recreation of my companion. Though 
he shuffled his blank papers with great skill 
and fingered their surfaces with scientific regu- 
larity, his eyes — wide, staring ones, — were 
kept fixed on the President's pulpit — never 
once did they turn on my inquisitiveness or 
towards the papers. 

One of the students then slipped by me and 
took a vacant seat next to this shuffler of 

[302] 



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papers. As soon as he was seated, however, he 
bent forward and said, to me, 

"Your name's Priddy, isn't it? I'm Sander- 
son, the monitor who keeps the attendance of 
this section. By the way, have you met 
Quarles? Quarles," he said to the student 
who was shuffling the papers, "meet Priddy, 
your classmate!" Quarles, without taking his 
eyes from their fixed stare on the President's 
pulpit, extended me his hand, and said, in a 
very quiet voice, 

"I'm glad to meet you, Priddy! I'm blind, 
as you probably know." 

I expressed my amazement that he should 
be in college. 

"Oh," Sanderson exclaimed, "it doesn't seem 
to bother him any. I notice that he's getting 
on for Phi Beta Kappa. He makes us hump!" 

"Then you are able to take the regular 
studies!" I gasped. 

"Yes," said Quarles, "the regular studies!" 

"Of course," I went on, "you omit mathe- 
matics, languages, and such things!" 

"Why should I, Priddy?" asked Quarles 
turning toward me his expressionless eyes. 

"Well, I really don't see how you can manage 
— those subjects," I explained. 

"He manages all right," interrupted Sander- 
son, "why, Priddy, he's taken nineties in cal- 
culus, French and German and Greek, and is 
right there when it comes to such graft courses, 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

as philosophy and English! Oh, you don't 
need to pity him: rather pity me, who with my 
eyesight, am hardly able to pull through Fine 
Arts One!" 

Quarles then explained to me how, before 
taking his courses, he had a student read to 
him the complete text which he translated into 
Braille with his blind-writing apparatus, on 
sheets of paper. He also used the same instru- 
ment, ^almost as quickly as we, with our sight, 
would use our pencils in the professor's lectures. 
The leaves he had been shuffling that morning, 
formed a reading lesson in French. 

Everybody was the friend of Quarles. He 
would be groping his way alone over a path to a 
class but a brief moment, for a student, playing 
ball, nearby would signal to his comrade, who 
would hold the ball, and then, throwing down his 
glove would hurry over, have a cheery word of 
greeting, ask Quarles whither he was bound, link 
arms with the blind student and guide him 
into a path where he could find his own way 
without need of piloting. In this way, Quarles 
must have felt the arm of nearly every upper- 
classman, for not only were they willing to 
straighten out his walks for him, and read to 
him, but they also took him with them on 
excursions, which he shared with excellent com- 
radeship and proved to be as good a mountain 
climber as the best. 

In this way, too, through walks, at meals, and 

[304] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

in classes, I soon had the students differentiated 
and had a formidable list of friendships. 

It was my custom, throughout the fall months 
when the highways were hard and untouched 
by snow, to ride weekly to and from college 
on a bicycle which I had bought for that pur- 
pose. On this twenty-mile excursion, along a 
winding river and through quiet, little hamlets, 
I had certain resting-places where I could breathe 
and refresh myself with a sup of water. 

Doctor Floyd's well, conveniently near the 
highway at the summit of a steep grade, had 
also a rustic bench near it, from which a most 
gratifying vista could be obtained, which in- 
cluded the view of a pyramidal mountain cone 
framed in a circular opening of twinkling poplar 
leaves, at whose foot a silvery dash of river 
curved under high, bush-lined banks, with now 
and then a cow or a colt completing the compo- 
sition by standing in the river. 

The Doctor, himself, whose permission to 
drink of the water and to seat myself on the 
bench for a rest I had taken pains to secure, 
was a short, stout, bald-headed man of about 
sixty, whose clean-shaven cheeks were always 
flushed by an excess of blood. He had retired 
from active practise and was engaged in the 
delightful, old age recreation of seeing how many 
eggs he could persuade a harem of Plymouth 
Rocks to lay through a most careful, scientific 
mixture of laying foods, use of germless drink- 

[305] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

ing troughs, and adaptation to an expensive 
mode of existence. 

One Saturday noon, as I sat on the bench 
puffing for breath, for the day was both dusty 
and hot, the Doctor, with the egg record for 
the week in his hands, which he came down to 
show me, sat down on the bench and said, 

"Well, do those wild students know what they 
are in college for?" 

"What do you mean?" I asked, puzzled by 
his sneer. 

"Usually," he explained, "more'n half of the 
students in the college over there don't know 
why they're there ! " 

"Oh," I said, "there are a great number of 
my friends who are not certain what they are 
going to do in the world, after graduation, if 
that is what you mean, Doctor." 

He rubbed his fat hands in revengeful 
gratification. 

"That's just it! Just it!" he laughed, cyni- 
cally. "It's all a waste of good money and 
precious time. There's no good can come of it. 
they don't take their studies seriously enough. 
Let me see, how many subjects does a student 
have to select from under that new-fangled 
election system they have — study made easy, 
I call it — how many, now? " 

"I think there must be in the neighborhood 
of a hundred different courses, a majority of 
which are elective, so far I know." 

[306] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"And the young lazybones pick out the 
easiest courses they can, independent of the 
good it'll do 'em, eh?" 

"Perhaps they do," I replied, antagonized by 
his critical and belligerent tone. "But then, I 
don't believe that a liberal education: a college 
course, has to do merely with giving a student a 
lot of technical information!" 

The little man fussily remonstrated. 

"What? I thought that colleges were in the 
world to fit men for their work, and that if 
they're to be doctors, why, they're to be taught 
medicine and nothing else!" | 

"That is the function of professional schools," 
I agreed. " Take my case, for instance. lama 
minister. I spent three years in a good theologi- 
cal seminary. While there I wanted technical 
information on my profession. I got it, and 
assimilated more or less — perhaps less. But 
when I came to college I did not come to add to 
my technical theological knowledge; not at all!" 

"What did you come for, then," he asked, 
with another sneer, "to get the degree, I sup- 
pose, like a lot of others?" 

"I don't think you give me credit for being a 
man of ordinary intelligence," I replied, hotly, 
angered by his insinuation. 

"Then what under heaven did you come to 
college for, if not to increase your theological 
information and whatever ability you might 
have as a preacher." 

[307] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"I came to college," I replied, "to get the 
other man's point of view. I reasoned with 
myself that a purely technical education tends 
to narrow a man unless supplemented by an 
education which might be entitled, 'The Other 
Man's Point of View.' " 

"That's a thrust at me," replied the Doctor, 
"as if to say that I, because I took my medicine 
with old Dr. Desbrow, and never went to one 
of your colleges, was narrow. The idea!" 

"I was not alluding to you, sir," I responded. 
"I was merely making a generalization which 
seems provable. For instance, I have a friend 
who is an expert surgeon. He has been trained 
in some of the best clinics and has diplomas 
from the most reputable medical colleges. He 
has learned his profession well, in all its finer, 
technical points. But he never received any 
liberal education. The result is, that he is 
narrow in his tastes, caring for nothing which 
is not flavored by anaesthetics or redolent of 
carbolic acid. As there are among his friends 
those whose stomachs turn at the mention of an 
operation or at the whisper of anaesthetics, he 
has no way of interesting them on subjects in 
which they are interested. He imagines that 
because all the world is not poking steel points 
in ulcers and cancers, it had better be left 
alone. The result is, that when you mention 
the surgeon's name to the townsfolk, you will 
hear words like these: 'A fine surgeon, but as 

[308] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

cranky and bitter as a hobby-rider.' No one 
can get along with him. He loses business by 
it. He knows nothing but his profession!" 

"Well," demanded the doctor, "that's a job 
big enough for any man with brains, isn't it?" 

"True," I responded, "but the truly educated 
surgeon has not only to know his tools, his 
diagnoses, his operating methods, but along 
with that knowledge, his final success demands 
that he be liberally trained in human nature, 
that he have at least a faint idea of the subjects 
in which other people are interested. A liberal 
education, added to his professional %education 
gives him that." 

"I'd like to know how?" demanded the 
Doctor. 

"Well, take my case again, for instance. I 
am going to take a lot of studies which are not 
technically pertinent to sermons or doctrines: 
study of Dutch paintings, Italian, Chemistry, 
Anatomy of the Brain and Sense Organs, and 
others which I can't mention at this time, be- 
cause I have not decided just what they will be. 
Here is what I mean. After an introductory 
study of Italian, I shall learn just how the 
Italians think. It is good to know that, surely? 
Then after a brief course in chemistry, though I 
shall not care enough about it when I am through 
with the experiments, to carry off a test tube, tie 
it with baby ribbon and keep it for a souvenir, as 
some students do, I shall ever after realize that 

[309] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

while I am swearing by theology, others, about 
me, have reason for being engrossed in chemical 
formulas and tests. Each study that I shall 
take, and each classroom that I shall visit, 
will form opportunities for me to get at the 
points of view which determine why Tom 
differs from Joe and why Joe differs from me. 
If the college can do that, Doctor, and not add 
a single jot to my theological knowledge, I 
shall feel more than repaid for the time I spend 
in it and the money I pay to it. So that is 
why I don't think it either wasted time or an 
entirely hopeless situation, Doctor, if a large 
number of students in the college do not know 
why they are there. One thing is certain, they 
are getting trained in the other man's point of 
view! 

The Doctor, evidently not at all in agree- 
ment with my explanation, after he had pooh- 
poohed to himself for a minute, thought to 
change the subject and for that purpose he said 
to me, 

"I rather pity you, young man. I always 
did pity ministers. They don't seem to do 
anything substantial; that's why I don't go 
near a church. It's all up-in-the-air preaching, 
and darned little doing. Now, keeping pullets 
or mixing a sick draught — why, they are some- 
thing worth while, now — but preaching and 
preachers — um ! " 

"The other man's point of view, Doctor," I 

[310] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

laughed, as I mounted my wheel and started 
off. 

A week later, the Doctor came out of the 
house, when I stopped at the well, and as he 
drew near he shouted, 

"I drove over to the college, last Wednesday. 
What a lazy set of loafers you've got over there, 
to be sure. I was there in the afternoon and 
saw them reading papers, strolling around the 
campus and playing all sorts of games. I don't 
think they'll amount to much in the world if 
they go on at that rate. They seem so aimless! 
I heard one fellow, with turned up trpusers and 
purple socks that would have given light at 
night, say to another student, something about 
throwing books and professors to the dogs — 
or some such stuff!" 

"Yes," I admitted, "I hear that every day. 
I know a good many students who care little 
about classes and text-books." 

The doctor, evidently gratified with that 
admission grunted, 

"Then what's the good of the college — to 
them. Why doesn't it send them into the world 
to be useful?" 

"That's what a good many people say, about 
us students," I replied. "But books and pro- 
fessors and courses of study are only a part of 
what a student gets in our college, sir. It's a 
very peculiar situation. I'm older than most 
of the students, and have had the advantage 

[311] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

of a professional training, and so can look on 
the college through somewhat serious eyes. 
You would be astounded, for instance, at the 
tremendous education that the men receive 
from purely student affairs." 

"Going into the country, when the football 
team's won over Princeton, for instance," sniffed 
the Doctor, "and tearing down farm fences! 
Oh, yes, a wonderful education in student 
affairs? Like one of your boys that came into 
this village, and in broad daylight went up to 
the grocery store, there, on the main street, 
and deliberately took down and carried off a 
four-foot, patent-medicine thermometer, the 
folks all the while thinking him to be an agent 
fellow, come to mend it, or change it. Oh, yes, 
a wonderful education those fellows get among 
themselves!" 

After the old man had frightened one of his 
pullets back into the rear of the house, I replied, 

"No, I didn't refer to isolated acts of mischief, 
Doctor, but to the student enterprises that 
create ability. Our college is nothing more than 
wheels within wheels. There are professors 
and classroom studies for the big, outside wheels, 
and for the inner wheels, whirling all the time, 
are the college newspaper, the college magazine, 
the athletic business, the writing and staging 
of plays, the dramatic clubs, the musical clubs, 
the social service enterprises, the political clubs 
and the religious work. Why, Doctor, those 

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students conduct all those things practically 
without help from outsiders. You would be 
astounded at the amount of executive and 
administrative ability they demand. The stu- 
dents who run the monthly magazine, for in- 
stance, must be good editors, fair writers, and 
managers of astuteness, for it has to pay for 
itself, at least, and must express literary power. 
It is the same with the newspaper. That is a 
business in itself, yet it is managed, financed 
and edited entirely by students, many of whom 
find it difficult to get interested in the routine 
of the college curriculum. When yqu multiply 
these business and serious activities, you find 
the students actually doing profitable and 
character-forming tasks outside of the class- 
rooms which few critics of the college take the 
trouble to notice. Why, it was only a week 
ago, that a student came into my room and had 
a talk with me about a new college enterprise 
that seemed formidable. He was a student who 
did not care five tooth-picks for his studies. 
He was in difficulties with his physics course, 
at the time, having failed in it twice, and seem- 
ing to be letting his third and last chance 
for his degree slip past without giving it a 
thought. The people on the campus, and the 
professors in the classrooms appraised this 
fellow as a 'loafer' and an 'idler.' Yet, that 
morning he came to me and said that he pro- 
posed to start a comic monthly, at ten cents a 

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copy, himself to be editor-in-chief, and the jokes, 
poems, pictures, designs, the securing of adver- 
tisement and subscribers, to be under his 
general charge and apportioned to willing stu- 
dents. He went off for two days, at his own 
expense, secured over a hundred dollars' worth 
of advertising, and only last week had news- 
boys selling on the campus a first-class, neatly 
printed, well-filled, artistically illustrated comic 
monthly, which, by this time has its regular 
staff of student artists, poets, joke writers, 
business managers, and board of editors; it's 
a paper which promises to be one of the features 
of student life. No, Doctor," I concluded as I 
felt of my tires, preparatory to taking up my 
journey towards home, "students may seem 
shiftless, indifferent, and unenthusiastic on the 
campus, but when you get behind the laziest 
of them you are liable to find that they are giving 
themselves to some sort of character-making 
work, — contrary to the posters which lead out- 
siders to think that college life consists of a 
place where the student sits in the sun on a 
fence, smoking a pipe with a leashed bull-pup 
at his feet!" 

"Say," called the Doctor, as I fitted the toe 
clips to my shoes, "my pullets did a hundred 
and sixty this week. Laying, — eh?" 



[314] 



Chapter XXXV. Hot-Popovers 
and a Cold Watch in the Station. 
The Sleigh-load of "Talent 

WHEN the winter storms piled the 
river highway with snowdrifts, I 
had to put aside my bicycle and 
use the railway trains. This 
made it necessary for me to 
leave my home on the Sunday midnight 
train that I might be ready for my classes at 
college, on Monday morning. In that northern 
part of New England what storms could grip 
the land and put a stop to train traffic and 
cartage! One of my parishioners showed me, 
for my comfort possibly, an actual photograph 
of a drift of snow so high that a liberal load of 
hay on a wagon stood on a level with it, when a 
gap was dug through. I had packed fir boughs 
around the parsonage cellar wall, and that was 
soon covered with the drifts; even the window 
sills were reached by the snow at last. As for 
the crumpled hills surrounding the village, their 
lonely, hurricane-swept crests, — with the stick- 
like birches bending away from the north like 

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timid creatures afraid to stand up, day by day, 
against those icy assaults, — presented a wild, 
dismal picture of winter's fury. 

My custom was, during those months, to 
arrive home on the Saturday afternoon train 
and immediately set to work splitting the maple 
blocks of wood into convenient fire-wood and 
stacking a week's supply in the kitchen wood- 
box, while my wife held a meeting with the 
children of the parish in the parlor. Then on 
Sunday, I would preach two sermons. I had 
to wear my overshoes in the evening on ac- 
count of the chill in which the vestry was always 
wrapped. After this service, my wife would 
have the supper table spread with preserved 
pears, hot pop-overs and cocoa. We would 
linger over this meal, the last I should have 
at home for a week, and keeping a sharp eye 
on the clock. At the first announcement of 
ten o'clock, the lantern would be Kghted and 
the words of farewell be given at the door. 
Then out into the dark misery of the night, with 
my lantern flickering my shadow over the houses, 
and my wife's lonesome sigh echoing in my heart, 
I would creep through the storms of swirling 
snow, which wet my hot cheeks, pass over the 
quiet bridge to the opposite side of the river 
and climb up a steep road until the silent, 
isolated station was reached. Across the river 
I could see the dark outlines of the village, and 
in the midst of it, a golden point of light: the 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

light of my home. The train was due at half- 
past ten, but it was never on time and so I had 
long waits. The station-master left the station 
dark on Sunday evenings. He gave me a key 
with which I unlocked the door and was able to 
keep warm while waiting. After having lighted 
the swinging lamp, I would produce a book and 
let the slow minutes pass until the late train 
screamed around the corner, as if angry with 
itself for its slow progress between stations. On 
the first sound of the whistle, it would be a 
wild scramble to quench the light, lock the 
door, and rush out to the train before it pulled 
out from the station. 

An hour later the train would draw into the 
terminus and leave me stranded, four miles 
away from my dormitory. Then I had to cross 
over to the hotel, engage one of the rooms and 
try to sleep till half -past five the next morning; 
if sleep were possible with such a screaming of 
freight-train whistles, and such a bumping of 
shifting engines as prevailed through the small 
hours of the night. 

At eight o'clock the following morning, eye- 
lids leaden with loss of sleep and my body 
weakened through lack of rest, and an inade- 
quate breakfast, I would commence the first of 
my three Monday morning classes, and not be 
free from the intellectual discipline again until 
nearly noon, after which I would spend the 
afternoon in sleep or recreation. 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

One day the director of social service, a 
department of the religious work done by- 
students, came to me and said, 

"Priddy, we've got all sorts of concert talent 
about here. Would your church care if we 
should give them an evening's entertainment?" 

"They can't afford to do much in that line," 
I replied. 

"But all we shall expect will be our expenses 
and a good, hot supper. We can hire a big 
sleigh and make up quite a party to go over 
the hills." 

"What have you got — for talent?" I asked. 

He thought a minute, and then said, 

"Why, we've got banjo players to spare, club 
jugglers, a sleight-of-hand performer, four or 
five male quartettes, a stringed orchestra, two 
readers, and a ventriloquist. Of course, the 
night we could give to you would find some of 
these students unable to go, but tell me what 
sort of an entertainment you would like and 
I'll see what we can do for you. We want to 
make the evenings brighter in some of these 
isolated, north country villages. It's a little 
bit of social service that brings its own reward, 
for the boys like to get out and have a good 
country supper!" 

He was able, finally, to make up a program 
which included a reader, a young professor who 
would swing flaming clubs, a sleight-of-hand 
performer and a male quartette. 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

On the afternoon appointed, these artists, 
wrapped up in thick clothes, appeared in front 
of a dormitory and were packed into a huge 
barge on runners until, including some invited 
professors and their wives, we numbered twenty 
or more. 

The four horses, with streamers of brass bells 
hanging in front of them jingled over the packed 
snow roads of the village and finally brought us 
into the less used hill roads, which, in places 
rambled over the hills until the climb seemed 
interminable. The snow began to fall and we 
plunged down the steep declivities, hajf blinded 
by it, but opposing the storm with jokes, songs 
and banter. 

On a shelf of road, which had been cut from 
a steep hill-side, and which the winds, un- 
hindered by protecting wall or trees, had stripped 
of snow and left glare ice for the sleigh to cross, 
our runners skidded to such an angle that we 
were threatened with an overturn that would 
have hurled us down the steep bank, had not 
some of the students leaped to the ground, and 
by sheer strength, aided by the careful control 
of the driver, kept the sleigh to the road until 
we were in safety. 

Then as the twilight set in, and there were no 
sign-posts to guide us, we stopped at the first 
house and asked how far we were from the 
village. An old woman, dressed in a greasy 
print wrapper, and drawing gulps of smoke from 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

a briar pipe, said she guessed we were "nigh 
four miles this side of it." We drove through 
the storm for a quarter of an hour more, and 
then, thinking that we should be coming in 
sight of the village, we stopped a man who was 
going to his barn with milking cans and repeated 
our request as to how far we were from the 
village, and, as if he had been in league with 
the old woman with the pipe, a mile back he 
said, 

"'Bout four mile, I'd say!" 

Hopefully, then, we rumbled and scraped 
down a hill for another half hour, and then, 
meeting another sleigh, coming in our direc- 
tion, our driver hailed the man at the reins, 
who was muffled to his ears in a swathing of 
crazy-quilt, and shouted, 

"How far are we from the village?" 

And much to our dismay, a rumbling answer 
came from the folds of the crazy-quilt, which 
we had to interpret as, 

"Jes' four mile!" 

Ten minutes, later, however, we had the joy 
of arriving hungry, cold, but not without spirit, 
at the church door, where, under kerosene 
lamps, and on white paper table-cloths, was 
spread a meal of hot biscuits, hot yellow-eyed 
beans, hot pea beans, potato salad, hot kidney 
beans, dill pickles, pickled beets, four sorts of 
frosted cake, luscious lemon pies and coffee. 

After the supper, the students went into my 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

church and found a hundred of the villagers 
gathered, in spite of the storm. The quartette 
sang entrancingly their college jingles. The 
young professor swung his flaming clubs, until, 
when he was in the midst of some complicated 
spirals his alcohol-soaked rags burnt out, un- 
expectedly, and he had to apologize since he 
could not go on with his novel act because 
his "spirits had given out." The reader gave, 
with great effect, a memorable quarrel between 
man and wife, and sparkling anecdotes which 
would have taken the dullness off a yokel's 
heart. Then the star of the concert, the 
sleight-of-hand performer began his skilful 
mysteries. He made a pencil cling to the 
palm of his hand, brought flags and flowers 
from an empty hat, multiplied a billiard ball 
into six, wafted a half dollar into thin air, and, 
finally, produced a pack of cards, at the sight 
of which, I thought my deacons would institute 
proceedings of worldliness against me for allow- 
ing it, but which, when made to do the weirdest 
acts, finally reconciled even the most austere 
of them; so much so that one grim Puritan 
even came forward and held the pack — after 
much persuasion — while the man of mystery 
seemed to change them without the holder's 
knowledge. 

At the close of the entertainment, the college 
delegation, after going, every one, to the church 
women and declaring that they had never 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

eaten a better supper than had been provided, 
got into the sleigh, the driver cracked his long 
whip with a deft explosion for the ears of the 
on-looking villagers, and with a hearty yell, they 
started on their way down the river road 
through the storm, and I stood with my wife at 
our door until their songs died away among 
the midnight shadows of the hills and storm. 



[322] 



Chapter XXXVI A Chapter 
of Sentiment and Literary Atmos- 
phere, Including the Account of 
Sanderson, the Procrastinator. 
How Two Prize Checks Were 
Spent. A Parish of Talent 

WHEN came the announcement of 
Spring, at college, after the lawns 
and the paths had dried, and when 
the evenings were filled with the 
throaty gurglings of hopping 
robins. A sign in front of the Commons an- 
nounced, " Class Sing Tonight 7 : 30." This is a 
"Sing;" 

At seven o'clock the students gather by classes 
at four different parts of the campus: the 
seniors to sit on their double fence, the juniors 
to sit on the steps of the recitation hall, the 
sophomores to occupy the commodious steps of 
the Assembly Hall, and the freshmen to stand 
near the library. 
Silence ! 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

Suddenly the low, vibrating voices of the 
seniors fill the air with, "Harvest Moon." On 
its completion, the three lower classes send 
snapping hand claps over to the fence. 

Silence ! 

The juniors send across to the seniors the 
melodious, sentimental song, "Summer Days 
and Love, Love, Love!" over the triple trills of 
which the high-pitched tenors linger as if they 
would stop there and sound those musical half 
tones until out of breath. Led by the seniors, 
the underclassmen repeat the hand-clapping. 

Silence ! 

With a sudden, flank attack, the sophomores, 
directed by a shirt-sleeved and very fat student 
fly into the midst of "Dolly Grey," a stirring 
war ballad, and from the pathos which wells 
out of the sentimental passages, one can easily 
imagine those wild, irresponsible sophomores 
crying in harmony with it. Once more the 
three classes snap their applause. 

Silence ! 

A longer silence this time, for the freshmen, 
making their first appearance in the role of 
class singers — a thick mass of them — cannot 
agree with their director as to what the premiere 
shall be. Soon the matter is settled. An arm 
is raised and then — a low rumble that dies 
down, followed by three giant laughs from three 
different points of the campus. The freshman 
leader has pitched the tune too low. 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Out with it, Freshies!" comes a mocking, 
cutting call across from the sophomores — 
traditional enemies of the freshmen. 

One more try, and with the effect of an aero- 
plane getting its flight slowly, hesitatingly, the 
freshman song at last rises to a mighty, boyish, 
exultant rendering of "Old Black Joe!" for they 
dare not trust themselves with a recent melody. 

After the songs, the cheers! the class cheers! 

The seniors give one for the juniors, and the 
juniors applaud it. 

The seniors give one for the sophomores, and 
the sophomores applaud it. 

Then the seniors give a heartier one for the 
freshmen, and those boys almost split the 
heavens with their yellings. 

Next the juniors make the rounds of the 
classes, with the same response of applause, 
save that their cheer for the seniors gets but 
scant and dignified applause, for the seniors 
must not be too boyish! 

Then the sophomores and the freshmen have 
their turn and the cheering is over. 

Silence. The night is deepening, and one 
hardly stirs. Four huge masses of shadow 
move in the direction of the campus centre. 
Then one hears a martial, drill-sergeant's 
"Left, left, left!" as the classes catch the step. 
It is so arranged that, without a halt, the four 
classes merge into one mass in the middle of 
the green. 

[325] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

Silence again. Not a sound is heard, until 
the college song-leader hums a pitch. Then the 
Alma Mater hymn goes up with all the thrilling 
reverence in it of a song of love sung to the 
college mother. If one were near the singers, 
it would be possible to see, how, when the song 
deepens in theme, the sophomore unconsciously 
throws his arm over the shoulder of the fresh- 
man, and the senior throws his over the shoulder 
of the junior: all brothers as the melody 
unfolds itself. 

The hymn ended, the cheer-leader moves to 
the side of the song-leader, says a few words, 
and then, as he takes the position of a prize- 
fighter, on guard, with his fist extended, he 
pulls out from the disciplined throats, a snappy, 
thundering crash of a college cheer. It is over. 
The crowd thins out over the star-lighted 
campus. Spring has come! 

I was amazed, that year, at the amount of 
personal supervision the professors gave to the 
students, out of hours, amidst such large classes 
as they were called upon to instruct. It had 
been drilled into my mind at Evangelical Uni- 
versity that only in the small college is it 
possible for the professors to "get next" to the 
student in a wise, helpful manner. So that 
when I came into the centre of the college life, 
in all its complexity, diversity and confusion, I 
actually expected to see the professors deliver 
their lectures, and then coldly leave us to our- 

[326] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

selves, withdrawing themselves from the student 
life with academic aloofness. 

But on Tuesday evenings the faculty were 
"at home" and welcomed such student visitors 
as cared to accept the courteous hospitality of 
their cheerful homes. After classes, and in 
their offices at certain hours, we could go to 
our teachers and be sure of receiving their most 
thorough attention on the matter in mind. 
Then, too, the professors were always eagerly 
seeking to align themselves to our life: to enter 
with us into the profitable ventures of a social, 
inspiring nature. Thus it came about that they 
served on athletic committees, religious boards, 
literary and social programs. It was because 
they possessed this spirit of fellowship with 
their students, that I was enabled to venture 
into a new world of opportunity. It was in this 
wise. 

I had been spending the largest proportion 
of my time in literary composition, for my wife, 
my sermon critic, had found that in my pulpit 
address I needed rhetorical clearness, so I deter- 
mined to discipline myself to that end. When 
the English professor gave out exercises, like 
editorials, descriptions, book reviews, or short 
stories, I resolved to put the burden of my time 
in such writings with no other thought than to 
remedy my pulpit faults. When some of these 
exercises were returned, after examination by 
the professor, I found red pencil notes, suggest- 

[3271 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

ing that this or that be submitted for publica- 
tion in the college periodicals. These red 
pencil suggestions were common in the class, 
and gave great inspiration to the other students, 
as they gave inspiration to me. One day, when 
I arrived late at class, I found the professor 
reading aloud a description I had written. 
This was followed by a request for a con- 
ference in the teacher's office. 

"I have been watching your work," said the 
professor, kindly, "and think that you might 
try for the junior essay prize and also for the 
prize offered for the best piece of college fiction. 
I have been advising several others in the class 
to compete, and hope that you will find time for 
the work. These prize competitions are real 
tests as to the value of classroom work. I 
hope you and the others will try!" 

On account of the professor's kindly sugges- 
tion, I began to work on the essay and the 
story, and kept my typewriter clattering hour 
after hour when not in class. For all the 
lure of authorship was before me. The lure 
of substantial prizes. The lure of contest. 
The lure of doing something, in composition, 
that seemed real. 

When I entered upon this special literary 
adventure I found that I was part of a consider- 
able fellowship, whose interest in the work was 
kept alive by the wise, far-seeing, personal 
interest of our different literary instructors. I 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

found one student who confidentially informed 
me that he was making a special research in the 
library concerning some wild, unknown pirates 
who once infested the New England coast. He 
meant to write at length upon that subject for 
the gratification of his own literary curiosity. 
Another student was busy, like the youthful 
Stevenson, in imitating, deliberately, the styles 
of the world famous authors, and just then, on 
our first acquaintance, was in the wild morals, 
but cameo-cut phrases of Maupassant! 

By the end of spring, in fact, I found myself 
in as inspiring a literary atmosphere % as, prob- 
ably, ever an undergraduate experienced. For 
I had been made a member of the editorial 
board of the college magazine, and even wrote 
comic doggerel and attempts at descriptive wit 
for the now thoroughly established comic 
monthly. I have been in a magazine board 
meeting, held in a student's room, when the 
conversation would rise into debatable heights, 
and would excite the whole company, over such 
questions as: 

" Are there more than seven types of plot possible in fiction? " 

" Is the supernatural in Shakespere scientific? " 

" Was Poe a plagiarist? " 

" Will any of the present-day six best sellers become classic? " 

Not only did we have these conversations 
among ourselves, but one of the professors 
invited a group of us into his home, once a 
week, where seated in his snug library amid 

[329] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

his choice editions, we would take up the tech- 
nical study of literature, enter into interesting- 
debates about it, and then sit back in our 
chairs as our generous host rang for the refresh- 
ments: a home touch which we appreciated 
thoroughly. 

Another pleasurable surprise was the small 
number of text books that I found must be 
purchased. During my first term I bought 
only two books for seven classes. The pro- 
fessors regarded the college library as a sort of 
encyclopaedic text book for over a thousand 
students: forming the standard work on his- 
tory, economics, social science, literature and 
the various other departments of the curric- 
ulum. At last, I found, professors and stu- 
dents had broken loose from artificial authorities 
and took their history and economics not only 
from many treatises on the matter, but from 
current periodicals, the daily newspaper, cata- 
logues, year books and similar vital, first- 
hand sources. 

This method of study, in use throughout the 
college, made the library something more vivid 
than a stack of collected books, magazines and 
pamphlets: it vitalized it and made it the 
resort of hundreds of students every day. It 
linked our classroom work, the professors' 
lectures and our own studies to hundreds and 
hundreds of books, periodicals and papers, 
where otherwise we should have been limited 

[330] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

to a half-dozen omnipotent authorities. In 
place of reading selected Orations from a book 
of compilations, I was compelled to find the 
original oration in some yellowed book in which 
it was first printed. In studying the leading 
principles of Forensics I had to go to the records 
of the courts to read the original evidence and 
pleas in the case. A procedure like that 
appealed to the mind and made one alert in 
judgment. It also made the library the centre 
where the real, serious work of the student was 
accomplished, and where one could come in 
daily contact with the fellows who were after 
serious results during their four years residence 
in the college. 

It was in the library that I first made one of 
my deepest and most valuable college friend- 
ships. 

It chanced that one of my studies, the life 
and works of Goethe, took me to a particular 
section of the reference room where the shelves 
of Sociology and Economics filled considerable 
space. As I made my excursions into the sec- 
tion, I became accustomed to the presence of 
a serious-faced Senior who was constantly 
occupied with books and periodicals from those 
two departments. It became natural for us, 
as the term advanced, to ask one another the 
time or to borrow pencils or paper. Finally 
these approaches to intimacy developed into a 
friendship; into a ripe friendship which in- 

[331] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

eluded visits to one another's rooms, long walks, 
communings in the club-room and ante-class 
conversations: on all these occasions a true 
exchange of serious and most profitable con- 
fidences taking place. 

Thurber, for that was my companion's name, 
though the son of a very wealthy father and 
accustomed to the finer touches of society life, 
had undergone, in his contact with the college, 
one of those conscience awakening, ambition 
refining and ideal lifting experiences which our 
president informed us, time and time again, 
should be the final results of a true, college 
education. 

Thurber's father was one of that type of 
American men who boast that their success has 
been attained through self -improvement and 
self-education and who crystallize their own 
peculiar and fortunate experience into formal 
axioms, on which every one else must seek 
success. Thurber's father had to his credit at 
the time a very large textile mill in a textile 
city in the South and it had been his supreme 
desire that his son, immediately on quitting 
High School, should go into the industry, work 
his way through it, and take charge of it in the 
end. 

But Thurber had no inclination towards lint 
and the stifling heat of a cotton mill, and he 
had so informed his father. He also told him 
that nothing less than four years at a college, 

[332] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

where he could meet fellows worth meeting, 
would please him. 

"You can imagine the look my father gave 
me when I made that proposition, for it knocked 
to splinters his special pet theories concerning 
education," said Thurber. "He stormed about 
'self-made men,' and quoted Lincoln and some 
others from the classic list of non-college men: 
pointed to himself and the huge industry he had 
created without the aid of a college education, 
and, in all, gave me to distinctly understand 
that a college education would spoil a good em- 
ployer: that it was a waste of time, and that if 
I was set on going to college, why I could go on 
my own funds — which I did not have — and be 
hanged! Of course I was lazy, undecided and 
youthful: just at the age when all life is a per- 
petual sunny day. I wanted to come to college 
to sport around and imagined my doom sealed 
when father emphatically refused to fund me, 
but mother — say Priddy, what would the 
spoiled children of the rich do without generous- 
hearted mothers? — my mother privately funded 
me and sent me here and still maintains me, 
even against father's orders, for he will not 
relent and imagines me to be the fool of fools 
in taking the course I did." 

"The so-called 'self-made men' are usually 
very set men," I replied. 

"Set?" muttered Thurber, "even a vice, 
tight locked, is loose by comparison with the 

[333] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

prejudices my father has against a liberal edu- 
cation. Well, I came this way and started in to 
sport it and expected to be tutored through 
my courses by the narrowest passing marks. 
I spent most of my time either in the fraternity 
house chugging at a piano or sitting in my room 
with my feet perched on the table gazing into 
space. Then I got the — the glimpse, Priddy, 
and that changed it all." 

"The glimpse, what was that?" 

"Well, I can't exactly define it or locate 
where it first began, but I do recall that one 
day, in the classroom — it was in Sociology — 
the professor set me thinking on a line I had 
never considered before. I can't tell what it was 
that he said explicitly, but he implicitly sug- 
gested to my mind that there are such things 
as dividends-not-of-money. Of course having 
been used to the other sort of dividends all my 
life, I was attracted to the idea that there were 
other dividends. I kept thinking about it and 
one thing led to another. The president spoke 
one day, in chapel, of the educated man's duty 
to his generation. I linked that to 'dividends- 
not-of-money' and worked it out to my satis- 
faction that there was for me, the son of a 
wealthy manufacturer, a place of usefulness 
and service in the world." 

"You had a call to the ministry, then, 
Thurber?" I demanded. 

"Gracious, no: not that!" he exclaimed, in a 

[334] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

tone that implied I had proposed something 
too extravagant for fancy. "la clergyman! 
I respect the cloth, Priddy, and I am glad that 
you are making it your profession, but really, 
that's not my line. Perhaps I'm not cut out 
for it. I know I'm not." 

"You planned to go into settlement or 
Y.M.C.A. work, probably," I hinted, "so many 
college fellows give themselves to that form of 
service in these days, Thurber." 

"I know they do, Priddy, but I didn't work 
it out in those directions, either, but in a more 
vital way: one that has aroused evei^ bit of 
latent enthusiasm for service and helpfulness 
that might have been hidden away in so pam- 
pered a body as mine. It's what I call the 
glimpse, Priddy. Want me to explain it?" 

"Certainly I do." 

"Well, I really was put in a fix by so much 
talk in the classrooms from the faculty and in 
the chapel by the President about 'moral 
leadership' and all that, and really thought at 
first that they were asking me to go into definite 
self-sacrificing avocations like settlement work 
and the other forms of social service, and I had 
no hankering for that, either. I hated to leave 
father alone in his old age and wanted, even- 
tually, to succeed him in the ownership and direc- 
tion of his mills. I imagined myself a callow 
materialist, opposed to spiritual forms of influ- 
ence, but I did not want to give up the business. 

[ 335 ] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

You can probably imagine how heathenish 
I felt when I contrasted father's industrial 
policy with the call to be a social servant. I 
began to think back to what father's self-edu- 
cation had done for him and had done for his 
employees. I faced the truth for the first time: 
how his narrow-minded policy had brought 
him great wealth at the expense of his self- 
respect and the happiness of so many of the 
people who worked for him. For years and 
years and years, he had been just paying wages 
for work done: that was all. He had paid no 
attention to the moral or social welfare of his 
people: the hundreds of families under his 
control. He did not go to their church, attend 
their lodges, go into their homes, or ever make 
it his policy to inquire about their welfare. 
He was just simply using them as tools towards 
the securing of a fortune — for me, that was all. 
I saw it all, how he had been creating in his 
little corner of our American industry, labor 
hostility, unsanitary conditions, poor types of 
ignorant, drunken, loafing citizens until the 
tenements belonging to his firm formed a per- 
fect slum. But he had not the eyes to see, nor 
has he yet; but he goes on in the darkness and 
in the groove of his own selfishness, intensifying 
the disloyalty of his employees and incidentally 
hurting his own reputation. Yet I could not 
bring myself to give up desiring to take on that 
industry. It was right then that the glimpse 

[336] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

came." Thurber paused for a moment and 
then continued: 

"Like the breaking of day, it flashed into my 
soul one morning in Ethics class, that if I could 
only go to work in that industry and reform it, 
that I should be doing a public service: that I 
should be following the advice of the college 
and giving moral service. But I realized that 
I should have to train myself in the science of 
ethics and morals; the history of economics and 
the deeper things of social science in order to re- 
form the business intelligently, constructively 
and profitably to myself and the employees." 

"Oh," I commented, "you want to make 
your type of social service earn money? — is 
not that an unusual sort of social service?" 

Thurber smiled and said: 

"It does sound worldly, especially to a minis- 
ter, Priddy, but the strange thing about it is, 
as I have figured it out, that if I do take an 
educated, intelligent, thoroughly scientific in- 
terest in my employees, and manage to clean 
up their tenements, their morals and their 
minds through welfare work, I shall, in the same 
stroke, be increasing their loyalty to the busi- 
ness, be redoubling their efficiency, be pre- 
paring a higher grade of workman: all of which 
will increase the earnings of my plant." 

"In other words, Thurber, you are going 
to work on the principle that humanity and 
welfare work are good business policy?" 

[337] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Yes," nodded Thurber. "If you, as a 
minister, were phrasing it you would say, ' God- 
liness is profitable in all things' — even in good 
industrial management — to mix in Shakspeare, 
it is 'twice blessed, it blesseth him that giveth' 
— the employer — 'and him that receiveth' — 
the worker. That's what I call 'the glimpse' 
and you may imagine how eagerly I am tugging 
at the strings in order to be working it out 
practically." 

"But it may turn out to be fine theory: 
mere dreaming, Thurber?" 

"Oh no," he protested. "Read the countless 
numbers of sociological works that I have and 
follow the countless numbers of experiments 
that have been made in this direction and you 
will agree that it is the most sane procedure." 

"College has meant something very definite 
to you, then, Thurber?" 

"I should say it had. I tell you I believe I 
understand, now, the tremendous suggestion 
that lies behind the college emphasis that its 
students stand in their businesses and interests 
against mere commercialism and flood them 
with intelligent, moral service. Besides, think 
what significance lies in my studies now: the 
whole course seems bent to broaden me towards 
the intelligent, economical use of human beings: 
psychology will give me trained insight, a course 
or two in physiology helps me to understand 
the limits of workingmen's endurance and wide 

[338] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

reading in literature will aid me to intelli- 
gently work out a policy of self-culture in the 
workingmen's libraries I shall form. Oh, I 
have come to realize that a business education 
is a thousand times more than learning book- 
keeping, the names of the tools, and a little 
mathematics from which to compute wages. It 
demands, in my estimation, the broadest college 
culture and I mean to secure it." 

"Just the antithesis of your father's theory," 
I suggested. 

"Yes, and think, too, how much he has lost 
by it. You would understand haw enthu- 
siastic I am about it, Priddy, if you could have 
one glimpse of the people and tenements around 
father's mill. I feel that right there is my 
call." 

"I know something about the waste, the riot 
and the ruin that have followed in the wake 
of narrow-minded, selfish, uncultured and un- 
sympathetic manufacturers, Thurber. If the 
college only manages to send out a hundred 
thousand graduates filled like you with this 
spirit of humane statesmanship, what a revolu- 
tion would take place in labor conditions!" 

"It would be the front door of God's kingdom, 
Priddy," affirmed Thurber, "sure enough!" 

Throughout that year, from the seriousness 
with which Thurber asked questions in his 
classes, from the eagerness with which he was 
ready to talk about welfare work, from the dili- 

[339] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

gence with which he fastened himself to the 
library alcoves marked: Economics and Soci- 
ology, and from the pervading seriousness of 
his manner, one might easily have guessed that 
in him one looked on a youth aflame with a 
consuming, zealous ambition to make his 
stewardship of men and his college culture 
yield the highest per cent of moral earnings. 
I felt proud to call him my friend. 

Another of my companions during the senior 
year was "Quiet" Sanderson, the student who 
had introduced me to Quarles. "Quiet" was one 
of those illogical and fanciful appellations in 
which the students delighted, and was paradoxi- 
cally twisted from Sanderson's fluent tendencies. 

Sanderson occupied a corner room in one of 
the newer dormitories. In it was a piano on 
which he played Beethoven and rag time with 
equal ease. The mission bookcase was topped 
by a very large, felt college streamer and a 
"perpetual care" sign, which in his Fresh- 
man wildness he had taken from a cemetery. 
As he was a literary man with a pronounced 
taste for Poe and the French short story writers, 
there were various evidences of "atmosphere" 
in the orderings of the room. For instance, 
some old swords, which might have been dis- 
covered in the ruins of Troy, but which, in fact, 
were clever imitations bought for a song in 
Boston, hung over the door. A Turkish fez, 
which Sanderson would wear when company 

[340] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

was present, usually hung from the clothes post 
in a corner of the room, over a quaint, full- 
length lounging robe made from scarlet cloth 
and embroidered with Mohammed's crescent. 
An oriental scent lingered on those habits of 
dress; a scent which I have seen Sanderson 
compound from barks and minerals bought at 
the druggist's and of which he would never give 
me the names. When he held a spread or a 
meeting of any sort, Sanderson's room would be 
thick with the fumes of joss which he kept 
burning from a blue Chinese bowl. If any one 
complained, Sanderson would have no scruples 
in telling the complainant that perhaps the smoke 
would be even denser and more sulphurous in 
a later destination! 

It was fortunate that I did not catch, like 
some insidious fever, Sanderson's habit of pro- 
crastination, for while his dreams were in the 
present tense, real, and vivid, his deeds lingered 
in the nebulous future. Thus, one night while he 
lounged on his couch wearing his fez, he informed 
me that he had the plot of an exciting tale that a 
publisher might make a fortune by. There was 
a secret staircase in the first chapter, and be- 
tween that and the twenty-eighth — a distance 
of eight thousand words, for he had measured 
them — enough blood was shed in the numerous 
duels, alley encounters and small riots with the 
watch, to stain a miniature Waterloo. 

"What are you wasting your time with those 

[341] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

blood and thunder yarns for?" I exclaimed, 
for the utmost frankness was the rule between 
us. 

" Blood and thunder ! " he echoed. " Why, it's 
thoroughly exciting, whatever you may say 
about it, Priddy. In my best style, too. 
Racy, full of tender sentiment at the love 
passages, and written with an iron pen, whose tip 
was flaming hot!" 

"Let me see this epic of thunder then." I 
demanded. "I should like to look it over." 

"Oh," yawned Sanderson, "I haven't had 
time to put it on paper — yet. I have my 
studies you know!" 

Thus it was not only with his literary dreams, 
but also with his studies. He never seemed to 
be in his books, but I knew that at some secret 
hour he must work hard, for his recitations were 
generally brilliant. 

He was a sly fellow, at times, especially when 
he chanced to be back with work. It was his 
habit then to get me in his room, when he would 
yawn and say: 

"Priddy, what did the professor conclude 
about that Lochner fellow?" 

Stephen Lochner was one of the Dutch 
painters we were studying. 

I would tell him as well as I could. Then he 
would drawl: 

"Uh, I didn't follow the professor at all when 
he said that the early Dutch school, Van Eyck 

[342] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

and the others — let's see, how many were 
there?" 

I would tell him, exactly, with names and 
dates, and then he would drawl: 

"Sure you got them all, Priddy?" 

"Yes, I have." 

"I'll bet you're grafting the course, Priddy, 
and haven't been near the references in the 
library, eh?" 

"Sanderson, I've got every note of importance, 
and have worked up every single picture!" 

Then the yawning fellow would turn over to 
me, lift up his fez in the politest manner and 
say, with his endearing smile: 

"Oh, is that so! Then Priddy, I shan't need 
to bother much myself, shall I? You can give 
me some fine dope on the course!" 

Seeing that I was caught, there was no way 
out of it but to become the unofficial tutor to 
his lazy highness; a duty, however, which was 
pleasant enough, for we had so many things in 
common. There was a sense of embarrassment, 
however, in the fact that Sanderson would go 
into the examinations of the course, after I had 
prompted him, and by some freak of the angel 
of Providence, his guardian spirit, he would 
out-top me with marks ! 

One Monday morning I dropped into his 
room, on my way across the campus, when he 
came from his bedroom arrayed in his bath-robe, 
for he had been oversleeping, and he said to me, 

[343] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Congratulations, Priddy!" 

"What's this for?" I exclaimed. 

"For the honorable winner of two literary 
prizes!" he exclaimed. 

"Two?" I gasped. 

"Yes, and firsts, my friend! I want to get in 
on the ground floor and get a college ice on the 
prize money," he smiled. 

"And how do you know this?" I asked. 

"The announcements were posted Saturday, 
after you had left, Priddy." 

"Then you shall have the treat, Sanderson." 

The two prize checks — beautifully decorated 
with the college seal and ornamental borders — 
were used to pay for the winter's supply of wood, 
at home, and to clear off a store bill. I felt 
that my first adventure into literature had amply 
repaid me in fellowships, discipline, and cash: 
a well-rounded reward. 

When I arrived home, for the long summer 
vacation, I began to ride over the hills to outly- 
ing farm-houses in a canvass of fellowship among 
my parishioners, whom I had never seen in 
church. My bicycle rides exhausted me in this 
work, as the summer was excessively hot. Be- 
tween the village services, on Sundays, I trundled 
my bicycle up a long hill until I came to a cross- 
road schoolhouse to which I had invited the iso- 
lated people, for services. The people who came 
to this service would not sing, so that part of the 
time they were treated to vocal solos by me, to 

[344J 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

which I had to play my own accompaniment on 
the little parlor organ I had secured. As my 
skill on the organ keys was limited to hymns up 
to the limits of two sharps or as many flats, my 
repertory, like that of a hand organ, was easily 
exhausted. But the people seemed thankful 
for this interruption of the monotony of their 
back-road life, and though I never took up an 
offering or asked them to do anything more than 
attend the services, which they did with increas- 
ing enthusiasm, I knew from their thanks and 
their faces that it had been a profitable venture, 
an appreciated service. 

But the strain of such a responsibility in 
addition to my college work was bound to ruin 
my health, so I resolved that the parish should 
be free to engage a permanent, resident pastor, 
and to that end I resigned and sought out a place 
nearer the college, where I could go through 
the next year as a pulpit supply and have my 
wife with me, in my own home, near the college 
campus. 

My new parish, which I visited only on Sun- 
days, was a most delightful village, where an un- 
usual number of interesting people made their 
homes. Though, at first sight, the village ap- 
peared an isolated, sleepy place, yet a plunge into 
its activities and a catching of its spirit meant 
the discovery of a number of enterprising, intel- 
lectual, and social efforts, of which any large 
community would have been proud. 

[345] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

There was a village nature club. This club 
was composed entirely of the townspeople, yet 
one of the members had been the co-author with 
a scientist in the study of fresh-water algae, 
another member had made an exhaustive study 
of grasses and minerals in such a scientific 
manner that his work had received the com- 
mendation of the state botanist. The club had 
expert bird students and a butterfly collector. 
Another of its members had discovered a rare 
fern, hitherto never found east of the Mississippi. 
The members of this club, surrounded as they 
were by the riches of summer and winter beauty, 
lived in a glorious world of adventure. When 
one family drove home, up the long road to its 
pine-groves and isolated farm-house, it counted 
the varieties of flowers growing by the wayside 
and made a report of great interest to the other 
members of the society. Another member 
watched the stars and gave reports on the newer 
astronomical happenings. 

Then, too, such intellectual interests reacted 
upon the social life of the little community, and 
a tennis court for the boys, clubs and sports for 
the girls, village improvement undertakings, 
and very interesting and rare lectures through 
the long winter, were the rule, backed by trained, 
interested people. This type of community, 
also, made the church a very desirable and 
interesting one, and made it easier for me to be 
away from Sunday to Sunday, for the social 

[346] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

concerns were certain to go on under efficient 
and responsible management. 

Meanwhile, my wife and I had brought our 
little boy to the college town, and had estab- 
lished ourselves in three rooms under the roof 
of a very tiny cottage. Though we had our 
dining-table near the kitchen stove and were 
otherwise crowded almost to discomfort, yet 
the last year of my educational career meant 
less anxiety and more inspiration because I 
could have my home in the midst of it. 



[347] 



Chapter XXXVI L Teiresias^ 
the Blind Prophet , and Squeem, 
the Student in the Back-waters of 
College Life. A Night of Grim 
Fate 

ONE winter afternoon as I approached 
Quarles' room, to take him for a 
walk, I heard a loud voice raised in 
angry altercation, as I thought. I 
paused on the dormitory stairs, and 
there came to my ears the blind student's voice, 
raised high, as if he were spitting fire. I hurried 
to his door and entered the room to see what 
the quarrel between my friend and his enemy 
could be. 

"Priddy, sit down!" quoth Quarles, pausing 
in his strange heat of jargon. "Listen," and 
then, standing in the center of the room, he 
declaimed this strange sounding sentence: 

"Eipo ti deta kail, in orgitze pleon!" and 
attended it with a fierce and angry thrust of 
his fist, as if he were thrusting red-hot bolts 
down the unwilling throat of a helpless foe. 

[348 J 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Well, of all the strange jumbles, Quarles!" 
I exclaimed, "what is the baby talk, please?" 

" Soo de athlios ge taut oneiditzon, a soi oudeis 
os ouxi tond oneidiei taxi!" he continued, scowl- 
ing frightfully and staring with his expression- 
less eyes as if he would have his stored up 
wrath break through to flash like fierce 
lightning on the pride of his unseen opponent. 

"Taxi?" I mused, "that means automobile 
riding at ten dollars a minute — what is the 
rest?" 

"It's Greek," he explained, sitting down. "I 
am the blind Prophet Teiresias, in the Greek 
drama 'King (Edipus,' to be given by the col- 
lege. Let me translate!" 

He sprang to the middle of the floor, and, in 
English, attended by the same angry gestures, 
he declaimed to the scoffing King whom he was 
warning : 

"'Shall I speak something more, to feed thy 
wrath?' ' and then he paused to explain, "and 
when you called it baby talk, I recited the line 
which I am to use when the King slanders me 
for being blind, 6 O miserable reproach, which 
all who now behold thee, soon shall thunder 
forth on thee!' and," went on Quarles, "you are 
to know, if you do not know it now, how that 
later the King does blind himself with hot irons 
and fulfils the prophecy I hurl at his coward lips ! " 

" Horrible, it must be ! " I shuddered. " What 
a dark tragedy to lighten a college stage!" 

[349] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"But," mused Quarles, "think of the achieve- 
ment, in these days, when the college critics 
are charging the college with immersing itself 
in practical concerns so as to forego the classics. 
My work is cut out for me, Priddy," he went 
on. "If they are to have a real blind man for 
Teiresias, they must also have fair acting of the 
lines, for it is all to be given in Greek, not a 
word of English; for barbarians like you, who will 
probably be mystified, there will be an English 
line-for-line translation." 

"Oh," I retorted, "I have studied some Greek. 
I have read the New Testament!" 

Quarles laughed, 

"That is only the introduction to Greek. 
Listen!" 

He stood before me and recited the fluid, 
rounded, Greek lines of the blind Prophet, as 
he leaves the King, 

" ' Ere I depart, I will declare the word 

For which I came, not daunted by thy frown. 
Thou hast no power to ruin me.' " 

"You will have to have a clear brain for the 
storing of so much pure, classic speech, Quarles," 
I said. "Come out for a walk over the four- 
mile road with me and you may talk King 
(Edipus to me till I faint!" 

So, arm in arm, over the ruts of the four-mile 
road, which first took us up a steep hill and then 
around to the west through some dark, cool 
woods, the blind student and I walked, and 

[350] 







So Arm in Arm the Blind Student and I Walked 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

talked of the Greek tragedy in which he was to 
play so realistic a part. 

On our way back, as we neared the campus, 
Quarles said: 

"Priddy, have you ever met 'Squeem' 
Hirshey? I've got to see him before supper, 
if you'll take me to him. He's one of the old 
men of the chorus, in the play, and wants me to 
help him with pronunciation." 

"No, I haven't met him," I said. 

"A poor Georgian," explained Quarles, "lives 
in a stuffy bit of a room with an Irish family, 
down at The Alley; you know where that is, 
of course." 

So while we walked in the direction of 
"Squeem's" lodging, Quarles gave me full 
information about this student, one who lived 
in the back-waters of college life. 

"In some unaccountable way," said Quarles, 
"Squeem managed to get a decent preparatory 
education in the South, in a place where most of 
the people lived in huts. Missionary education, 
I think. However, he came here, passed entrance 
exams all right, and was awarded a couple of 
scholarships that bring him in about a hundred 
and fifty dollars a year. He tells me that he 
manages to get enough work to support him: 
that he earns his room rent with the Gibboneys 
by doing chores, though what chores such a poor 
family can have for him to perform, I cannot 
understand. He cooks his own meals on an 

[351] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

oil stove, and, for that purpose tries never to go 
over seventy-five cents a week for his food. 
As for clothes, well — he patronizes 'Eddie', 
the old clothes-man, and manages to get cast- 
off shoes and clothes at ridiculously low prices. 
A suit for four dollars and a decent pair of shoes, 
not much worn, for fifty cents!" 

"I must have seen him," I explained, "but 
of course, I cannot place the name. A queer 
one, too; reminds one of Dickens' Squeers, the 
ugly schoolmaster." 

Quarles smiled. 

"That name was tacked on a year ago, 
when he was a Freshman. It seems that he 
kept himself to his room and never mixed in 
things, sort of a timid, bashful chap, but full 
of energy when it comes to study. A down-at- 
the-heels fellow, I have heard him called. Well, 
he was squeamish about everything, and it was 
natural for the Freshies to tack him with 
'Squeem' and by that name he will always be 
known to the future generations of college 
men." 

"Here's the alley!" I announced, after a few 
minutes more of talk. We had passed down an 
outlying road where, on the very outskirts of 
the village, stood a row of cheap tenements. 
Between these, at an angle, lay an alley filled 
with ashes, tin cans and broken bottles. This 
alley led up to two ill-looking shanties, so small 
that by comparison with the houses farther in 

[352] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

the town they seemed no more than half -ruined 
doll houses. 

"It's the blackest house," whispered my 
companion. "Go around to the rear. His 
room is up the back stairs." 

As we rounded the black shanty the sound of 
gurgling and churning reached our ears, and then, 
back of a line of flapping, wet clothes, we came 
on a middle-sized, but excessively gaunt youth, 
wearing an oil-cloth apron, such as we wore in 
the chemistry classes when we performed experi- 
ments, with a bib that fitted close to his neck. 
He wore under it a ragged, red sweatee and was 
churning a washing machine full of clothes, 
while, at his back, a stout, red-faced Irish- 
woman was engaged in taking clothes from a 
basket and hanging them on lines. Hanging 
from a row of nails on the outside of the house 
were all shades and colors of students' laundry 
bags. Underneath them, wriggling in a broken 
and dirty clothes basket, lay a six-months -old 
baby, sucking a soiled thumb and apparently 
finding it nourishing. 

"Hello, Quarles!" greeted the washerman, in 
great embarrassment at our discovery of him, 
"I didn't expect you!" A Southern drawl was 
evident in his speech. He was about to take 
off his apron, when the Irishwoman, throwing 
a frown of dissatisfaction in my direction, 
growled : 

"Mister Hirshey, an' don't you be lavin', 

[353] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

mind you. Them things've got to be done. 
You can talk while you work; but work you 
must, and the young gentlemen can go hang till 
you've time, if they care!" 

Squeem's waxen cheeks, which seemed before 
to have no signs of blood about them, flushed, 
and he said, apologetically, as he resumed his 
churning, 

"Only ten minutes more, Quarles. We can 
talk, and then we can go to the room." 

I was introduced to the student and recog- 
nized in him the one whom I had passed on the 
campus, time and time again in the winter, 
with his shivering body fitted to ill-measured 
clothes, and his goose-fleshed wrists and un- 
gloved hands hanging like dead weights from 
below his coat sleeves. 

Ten minutes later, after I had watched the 
Southerner dip out the dripping mass of laundry 
and put it through the wringer, we were con- 
ducted into the dark kitchen with its odor of 
cabbage, and ascended by a wabbly stairway 
to the loft, one half of which was given to 
Squeems for his abode. A greasy, sour odor 
of cooking permeated the room. It was lighted 
by two narrow panes of glass fitted to a make- 
shift frame, and covered by a curtain of imita- 
tion tapestry, with the design of a red Swiss 
house half buried amid gray bushes and a row 
of stiff, brown poplars. A cot bed stood in a 
corner with a bundle of warm quilts in con- 

[354] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

fusion on it, for evidently our host had little 
skill in his housekeeping. A packing case, on 
end, with the open side towards us, had been 
skilfully transformed into book shelf, storage 
place and desk. A short row of text books was 
ranged on the packing case. Besides a kitchen 
chair there was no other seat, save a tin-covered 
trunk from which Squeem had to take a few 
dishes, an oil stove and a bread tin, — his 
dining apparatus, — before it could be utilized 
for a seat. 

The following half hour was spent by Quarles 
and the Southerner in the pronunciation, the 
translation, and oratorical interpretation, not 
only of the chorus part of the play, which would 
be sung, but of the Blind Prophet's thrilling 
lines, which Quarles recited before Squeem with 
even more spirit than he had to me, for, he 
explained, as we left the house: 

"That poor fellow may be in the back-waters 
of college, but he's got a really excellent mind. 
It wouldn't surprise me to see him come near 
to leading his class in scholarship. I like him — 
that Squeem," and then my blind companion 
quoted, with great impressiveness, "'Grand, 
gloomy, and peculiar, he sat upon his throne, a 
sceptred hermit, wrapped in the solitude of his 
. . . originality.' " 

Then the night of the Greek play arrived in 
which Quarles and his strange friend were to 
appear. 

[355] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

My wife and I sat in the gallery, in Assembly 
Hall, amongst the vast throng of spectators. 

A dark, green curtain covered the stage. The 
white interior of the hall, with soaring ceiling 
panels, dotted with flaming rows of electric lights, 
the paintings on the gallery walls of presidents 
and benefactors of the college, the ushers in 
evening dress, fine, manly samples of youth, 
the well-dressed women in their opera costumes : 
all this was a glorious show to look upon, in itself. 
But when a group of gowned students took their 
places, in chairs, near the stage, and were fol- 
lowed by the orchestra, and the musical direc- 
tor, — then the programs fluttered, expectantly, 
even in the hands of the professors and invited 
guests from other colleges, who had come to 
enjoy the literary treat of the much-heralded 
play. 

The leader, with a gentle tap on his rack, 
brought the musicians into position. A stroke 
of the wand in the air, and the instruments began 
with the introductory theme, a droning chant, 
with wild whisperings in the background, as the 
violins tried to paint for our senses the chatter 
of the fierce Fates that were to hound King 
(Edipus to his horrid death, in payment to their 
stern laws for his unconscious sin. 

Then, as the haunting prelude paused on a 
wailing minor, as if to tell us that forever and 
forever man's despair should continue — under 
the rule of the Fates, the lights in the hall were 

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darkened, amidst a silence. There was a pause, 
and then, as the heavy curtains were drawn aside 
while the drums crashed forth a suggestion of 
impending strife, we looked upon a marvelous 
palace front in ancient Boeotian Thebes. Aus- 
tere gloom, the fluted, pillared doorway with 
the brazen door bespoke, though the sky was 
tinted as if for a sunrise, or sunset. Then before 
our eyes, in that ancient world was unfolded the 
grim lesson that even unconscious sin must pay 
at last the uttermost farthing. 

Quarles, transformed into a bearded, led 
prophet, spake his lines with heart-ringing 
pathos. But as for "Squeem" among the 
bearded men, who chanted their parrotish 
gossip, I could not distinguish him. 

Heaps on heaps of color were massed on the 
stage, with a studied effort to inflame the imag- 
inations of the audience. When it seemed that 
the finest effects of grouping and harmonies 
of color had been obtained, other actors would 
suddenly appear and make the splendor of the 
setting pass belief. 

Word by word, gesture by gesture, chant by 
chant, we followed the dismal but dramatic 
tale from its air of glory and freedom into the 
darker shadows of dread which Teiresias fore- 
told. Moods of king and queen, of the old 
men who stood by the temple, of the priest and 
the shepherd changed slowly and steadily from 
scoffing to belief, from belief to alarm, from 

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alarm to fear, from fear to resistance, from re- 
sistance to submission, from submission to final 
reparation. Woven into the shudderings of the 
old men, witnesses of death and grewsome 
penalties, were the musical whisperings, to keep 
our minds upon the unseen spirits of the venge- 
ful gods who were directing the grim tragedy 
until all the sobs that men and women could 
give were ended, until the last dreg of a tear 
remained, and until only the merest whisper of 
a cry could sound in the chambers of a suffering 
heart ! 

We went into the night, from it, feeling that 
our hearts had been smitten heavy blows, that 
our life had fastened itself to leaden anchors. 
The terrible reality, the magnificence of Fate, 
the classic splendor of sufferings in epic girth 
had been staged before us. 

Teiresias' words hung in the air, everywhere, 
even under the dark sky outside: 

" O miserable reproach ! which shall soon 
Thunder forth on thee!" 



[358] 



Chapter XXXVIII. How 

Ellis, the Captain, Taught me the 
Spirit of Contest. I Turn Pam- 
phleteer on Behalf of Scholarship. 
But Find from Garvin that 
Scholarship and Education may be 
Separate Matters. Account of a 
"Truly Classic Event, which Makes 
the Students Study Color Schemes 
and Gives us a Chance to Appear 
in Gowns 

ONE afternoon I was sitting on the 
senior fence, watching two fraternity 
teams wage a contest in baseball, 
when I saw Ellis, the football cap- 
tain approaching, with his ringer 
upraised to draw my attention. 

Ellis was an impressive fellow with his tower- 

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ing shoulders, oak-like limbs, and ruddy cheeks. 
In his flannels, tan oxfords, and varsity cap he 
spelled in large capitals, "Exercise." For Ellis 
was known preeminently, in the athletic world, 
as one of the year's gods who sit on the pin- 
nacle of Olympus, the revered of freshmen, the 
applauded of sophomores, and the envied of 
fellow seniors. By the newspapers he was 
heralded as the best player of football in his 
position in all America. His name, through the 
years of his playing, when he appeared with nose 
guard and canvas suit, had been on the lips 
of admiring multitudes. His photographs, 
showing him catching a football, or in pose for 
a scramble, had been spread on many city 
papers that year. 

In the college, more than in the outside world, 
Ellis' fame had won the highest respect. He 
was the marked man: marked for friendships, 
for class honors, and for the respect of the 
faculty. A freshman, given the merest smile or 
word by Ellis, immediately ran to his room and 
wrote a burning letter about it to his mother 
or his sister. The fraternities and senior so- 
cieties had vied with one another to secure him 
for a comrade. He was the college "boss" in 
a good sense, for if a group of excited students 
broke the public peace, by an unruly demonstra- 
tion before the town jail, where one of the 
students had been immolated for throwing a 
snowball at the village justice, it was Ellis who 

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jumped on a flour barrel, which he had ordered 
brought from the back door of a nearby grocery, 
and at a word, commanded the incipient riot 
to break up; which it did without a murmur. 

"Take a walk, Priddy?" asked Ellis, as he 
drew near. 

"Certainly," I said, jumping from my perch 
and measuring my stride to his. 

"Priddy," he said, "you know about the 
Bristow Oratorical Prize for seniors?" 

"Yes." 

"The trials come off soon. Why don't you 
go into it?" 

"I hadn't thought of it," I admitted. "Be- 
sides, I don't think it would be wise. I am no 
orator; I mean that I do not use finished ges- 
tures, and my throat trouble has taken the 
spirit from my voice. In addition to that, 
Ellis, when one is used to the pulpit, it is really 
a different proposition to speak in an exhibition." 

"But you will have a chance with the literary 
side. That counts one half," persisted Ellis. 

"Now look here," I smiled, turning on him, 
suddenly, "why don't you go into it?" 

"I will, Priddy. I certainly will!" 

"You've made your record in football, and 
you ought to go into this oratorical contest, 
Ellis." 

"I'm going into it," he replied, "not so much 
for the mere idea of trying for the prize, but 
for a purpose." 

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"What's that?" 

"Well, Priddy," he continued, seriously, 
"I've been up against it ever since I indulged 
in sports. It has eaten up much of my time, 
and there have been days and days when the 
grind of training and practise and of having to 
go to bed early, and all that, have been wearing 
and uninspiring. If it hadn't been that I felt 
that I was maintaining the honor of the college 
by my playing, I should have quit the game long 
ago. Well, there are a lot of folks that think of 
college athletics as a waste of the student's 
time and as a feature of college life not good in 
itself, but which must be endured, if men are 
to be won to college. Of course you know that's 
not the truth; at least in this place." 

"Of course it's not so," I insisted, just as 
earnestly. "College sports are the cleanest, 
most honorable of sports. They teach the 
students in this college to be manly in losing, 
to hold their tongues when the visiting team 
makes a fumble, and to cheer one for the other. 
It's so different from the national game, out- 
side of the college, where the crowds in the 
bleachers throw pop bottles at the umpire, 
insult the players, and nag one another bitterly. 
Our college sports teach the students moral 
control and self-restraint." 

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Priddy," 
agreed Ellis, warmly. "If the game had been 
otherwise, I would not have wasted my time 

[362] 



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with it. Well, there are a lot of folks, even in 
college," he continued, "who really think that 
because a man makes good on a football team 
that he's not capable with his studies, or with 
the literary features of the college." 

"There again," I agreed, "they don't know 
all the facts. Think of the fellows on your 
team, this year. Several of your best players 
are making excellent records in class work." 
I enumerated three of the brightest players who 
had maintained a rank of over eighty-five, in 
spite of the great amount of time given to 
sports. 

"Yes, Priddy," replied Ellis, "that's so, but 
the public at large don't think of it in that way. 
Well, that is why I want to go into the oratorical 
contest; just to show folks that a fellow inter- 
ested in athletics is also able to manifest an 
interest in literary matters!" 

"Good!" I exclaimed, won by his sincere 
earnestness. "But why do you want me to go 
in, too, as a competitor? I should think you 
wouldn't care to increase the competition, 
merely as a matter of self-interest." 

"Oh," he laughed, "the more, the merrier. 
I thought you ought to go in, too, for I think 
you would stand a good chance, Priddy." 

Finally I agreed to go in with him. On the 
walk we advised about subjects and the next 
day Ellis came to my room for some material 
I had promised him on his proposed theme. 

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Then began the strangest preparation for a 
contest in which I had ever indulged. We con- 
ferred with one another about the points we 
were to make, and prodded one another on, when 
either became slothful. Finally, when our 
speeches were memorized, we took afternoon 
walks into a field where we shaped our orations 
into some definite spoken form before each 
other. Ellis would hear me through, suggest 
how this gesture and that thought might be 
improved. Then I would criticize him in the 
same way. We hid nothing from one another, 
though we were to be rivals on the platform. 
He knew every turn of my speech and I knew 
every turn of his. He added force to mine 
by thinking out for me a new analogy that I 
could insert at a weak part. I altered a mis- 
quotation in his which would have lost him a 
point. It was an inspiring experience for me. 
I was witnessing, in Ellis, a sportsmanship of 
which there could be no more refined example. 
I did not wonder, then, at the praise the college 
had given him. 

But this was not all, for on the afternoon 
when the trials took place, — in the big, dim 
room of empty seats, with a few judges scattered 
lonesomely about, — as I took my turn and was 
walking to the platform, I felt a hearty clap on 
the shoulder and heard Ellis whisper, "Good 
luck to you, Priddy!" exactly the way in which 
he had encouraged his men in the big football 

[364] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

contests. I walked to the platform thrilled 
through by the magnificence of Ellis' sporting 
spirit. I felt that if any other man won, it 
should be Ellis. 

I did not do well with my oration. I was 
marked down. Ellis' turn came. I watched 
him, admiringly, as he strode to the platform 
in his masterful way. His gestures, over which 
we had worked with patience, were still undis- 
ciplined, and at times his voice thundered too 
much. But he came down with the conscious- 
ness of having done his best. He was declared 
eligible for the final contest. 

Later, when the final contest took place, 
Ellis, who had gone into it with the loftiest ideal 
of all the contestants, had the thrill of knowing 
that he was the winner of the prize. He had 
won both sides of the medal, the athletic and 
literary. 

"At least," he said to me, in bashful comment 
on his victory, "I think that some folks will be 
persuaded that a football man may have some 
interest in scholarship." 

Garvin, a fellow Senior, illustrates another 
phase of college life and thought. He was a 
clever individual and one of the editors of the 
college newspaper. His "den," as he loved 
to term his narrow room in Wise Hall, had been 
made to resemble as much as possible an edi- 
torial sanctum. Galley proofs, daubed black 
with corrections, revisions and proof marks, 

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had been hung over his desk, as if to forever 
remind him that the true function of an editor 
is revision, as it is the true function of life. 
Original artists' drawings, in charcoal, pen and 
ink and pencil, were mixed in with Gibson Girl 
sketches on the walls. Three samples of "the 
worst contributions ever sent into the paper" 
were framed in passe partout and hung over the 
brick of the fireplace where the curious might 
read them; one was a Freshman poem whose 
theme had never been understood and for the 
interpretation of which Garvin had a standing 
offer of a box of cigars. The "poem" said 
something about "the ancient cow, sitting 
munchingly on the steep broadside of green, 
fertile country," and then went on to irrel- 
evantly bring in various other cattle, scenes, 
and people in such an unexplained matter-of- 
fact way that the mind was in a whirl at the 
end. The other two contributions were at- 
tempts at stories, and judged from the first 
pages of manuscript exhibited, ended in being 
nothing more than attempts. 

I had visited Garvin to speak on a matter to 
which I was giving considerable thought at the 
time: the curious disparagement of scholarship 
by so many of the students. I had even gone to 
the pains of having published in Garvin's paper 
my undergraduate protest against the univer- 
sal tendency to despise the "plugger" and to 
esteem the "grafter"; two terms which marked 

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the antipodes of scholarship. My article, en- 
titled, "On the Spirit of Work in College," had 
been printed and followed by a parody, written 
by an unknown student and entitled: "Priddy 
Has A Grouch," in which the writer had openly 
given all the honors of the college to the student 
who refrained from seeking a salutatory, vying 
with his classmates for the valedictory or has- 
tening after academic honors of whatever sort. 

"Blatant heresy!" I announced, pointing out 
the anonymous article. 

"Oh, I don't know," replied Garvin. "I 
rather like it!" 

I regarded him in astonishment for a moment 
and then protested, 

"But think of it, man! Denouncing scholar- 
ship! A student in a college denouncing the 
very charter of the college. It's incredible: 
audacious and heretical: undermining the very 
foundations of the college! And to think that 
you, an editor, interested in culture and educa- 
tion, support such a paradox,. You ought to 
be tortured in a Smithfield fire or have your 
thumbs twisted with Inquisition screws!" 

"Oh, I don't know!" smiled Garvin. "I'm 
not the only one that scoffs somewhat at the 
scholars: there are hundreds of us on the 
campus: hundreds of us." 

"Yes," I replied, "sour grapes, probably." 

"Now look here, Priddy. I'm no loafer. 
You know me. I believe in education or I 

[367] 



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would not be spending my four years here. 
If I were to put all my time in study: the time 
which I invest in my editor's duty, for instance, 
and in the mandolin club, I think there is in me 
a potential honor man at least, even as there 
is in Sanderson a potential valedictorian, and 
in Ellis a potential Phi Beta Kappa (if he left 
off athletics), and in Forrest a potential magna, 
triple X, summa, double-barrelled cum lauda 
if he didn't put so much effort into the evening 
classes for the Italian laborers down at the 
Reservoir. But the truth is — these men, like 
myself, aren't very enthusiastic about high 
marks, or the honors that high marks and class 
rankings bring to the undergraduate." 

"No wonder the professors get discouraged, 
Garvin. It's enough to make the college founder 
place dynamite under the campus and blow us 
to kingdom come!" 

Garvin's eyes twinkled at his next question. 

"Hear about Scholarship Night, Priddy? I 
know you weren't there for you went home 
that day." 

"Hear about it?" I gasped. "I should say 
I had. They say that there was about as much 
enthusiasm over the reading of the honor roll 
that night, in assembly hall, before the students 
and invited guests, as there is enthusiasm over 
— well, say a book entitled, ' The Thesaurus of 
Diction — or Recent Explorations into the 
Vocabulary of Monkeys.' " 

[368] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Enthusiasm!" repeated Garvin, "it was ten 
miles away that night. Just a handful of 
students, lonesomely huddled in the first few 
rows of seats and behind them a lighted vacancy. 
I tell you, Priddy, the students aren't interested 
very much in pure scholarship: even many of 
the men who are here for a serious purpose." 

"Then why do they come here, Garvin, tell 
me that?" I demanded. 

"For an education, Priddy." 

"But how can they secure an education unless 
they are solicitous about scholarship, Garvin?" 

"Oh, I see what is the matter, Priddy. You 
imagine that because so many of us aren't 
interested in scholarship, pure scholarship, 
we aren't interested in education. Education 
and scholarship are two very different things." 

"How do you argue that?" 

"You have the old-fashioned idea of a col- 
lege," continued Garvin. 

"What do you mean?" 

"The old New England college: the repre- 
sentative college of olden days, injected a love 
of books and the wisdom of books in their stu- 
dents: reams of the classic poets and prose 
writers: encyclopaedic furnishings of the mind 
with the contents of a few good, stimulating 
books. Those were the hey-days of pure 
scholarship. They have existed here: but we 
students, today, are illustrations of an evolu- 
tion in educational ideals, even if most of us 

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don't seem to realize it. We represent the 
changed temper of higher education. If I may 
phrase, offhand, my idea of the change, — it is 
that the older generation considered pure 
scholarship, in itself, the central aim of a college 
course, and to an ideal of that sort, Scholarship 
Nights, Phi Beta Kappas, and all such educa- 
tional fashions were not only in keeping but were 
producers of tremendous enthusiasms. On the 
other hand, what seems to me to lie in the heart 
of the students now is the demand for scholar- 
ship, — plus accomplishment It is due, no 
doubt, to the practical turn of the world during 
the last few years. I am interested mightily 
in scholarship when it helps towards actual 
accomplishment: when like a gold coin it pur- 
chases something; unlike the old notion that 
scholarship was a gold or silver medal, good 
only to decorate or dignify the person, or to be 
kept on exhibition." 

"Are you sincere in that, Garvin?" I de- 
manded. "If so, you should write it out in 
editorials, for the criticism of the professors: 
if you could substantiate it by concrete facts." 

"Concrete facts, Priddy! Why, it would 
carry us into the small hours of the morning 
if I were to begin their enumeration. Take 
Ellis, for instance. You tell me that he went 
into the medal contest to vindicate the athletes. 
There is one example of the coin of scholarship 
purchasing something: one concrete expression 

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of the student interest in scholarship when it 
leads to something practical and concrete. 
Can you imagine Ellis going into a literary 
contest that would wind up in itself, without 
relation to something practical to be gained 
by it?" 

"No." 

"You go around the campus with a test like 
that, Priddy, and you will find that scholarship 
is highly respected wherever it has resulted in 
accomplishment. Don't we respect Professor 
Florette? I should say we did. One of the 
most perfect scholars in the college and yet 
even the grafters among the students would 
throw their caps in the air at any time for the 
Professor, and why is it? It is because his 
scholarship has actually made him accomplish 
something. He is president of the National 
Science Division of College Instruction and is 
known and quoted abroad as an authority in 
his line. That's why the students like him. 
On the other hand you might pick out a pro- 
fessor here and a professor there who is very 
erudite — notice my vocabulary, Priddy — and 
who is a perfect scholar in his department, and 
yet who never translates his knowledge into 
life: never writes a useful book, or influences 
thought abroad, or is asked to address even a 
Kindergarten Teachers' Convention. All we 
know of him is that 'he is a scholar.' You 
don't catch us shouting much for that man, 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

do you? He has not accomplished anything 
tangible, ergo — his scholarship is merely an 
esthetic satisfaction. That's why we fellows 
prefer old Florette." 

"But's that a very youthful and shallow way 
of judging, Garvin," I replied. 

"Well, whether you call it youthful, shallow, 
or what not, that is the way most of the students 
seem to regard scholarship. They are only 
interested in it when it means contact with life 
and the enlargement of the scholar's ability 
for civic usefulness. That is the outcome of 
practical America, I suppose. But for the 
'grind' who slaves for big marks and the sheer 
worship of books — and nothing else, why, I 
don't have much use for him. On the other 
hand, if a fellow grinds out big marks to play 
on the football team in security: why, that's 
the fellow that gets the cheer. It's scholarship 
plus, with my crowd, and I think you'd better 
come in the band-wagon with us, Priddy, for 
whether the professors like it or not, and choose 
to cling to the seventeenth century exaltation 
of scholarship per se — note my Latin, Priddy 
— why, it won't change matters any." 

"That's something to think about, Garvin, 
at any rate." 

"If you observe the students closely, Priddy, 
I think you'll find that they do respect scholar- 
ship; put it in the very highest possible place 
of influence — when it has led to something." 

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"I am glad I had this talk with you, Garvin. 
I think I understand the fellows a little better, 
— I can even forgive the unknown who wrote : 
Priddy Has A Grouch!" 

"Thank you, Al," replied the editor. "I am 
the chap!" 

If the failure of Scholarship Night — and a 
dismal one it was — had seemed to indicate 
little respect for pure academic accomplishment 
at the College, there soon took place an event 
which swallowed up that failure in its over- 
whelming scholarly success and aroused, in the 
student heart, every last atom of edmiration 
for the academical ideal. Our new President 
was inaugurated. 

Inauguration Day was pre-eminently the real 
Scholarship Day with the links closely forged 
between what Garvin called scholarship and 
accomplishment. The President we were to 
honor represented the close tie between scholar- 
ship and accomplishment. His learning had 
brought him a world reputation as a scientist, 
and it was extremely interesting, after the 
talk with Garvin, to note with what unction 
the students lingered on the reputation of the 
President, and how deferentially they spoke the 
names of this Royal Society and that Foreign 
Body which had honored him for his work. 

Garvin's paper, weeks before the event, 
teemed with anticipatory gossip concerning 
the stellar names in education that were to be 

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printed on the list of college guests. The 
campus was to be the show ground for the 
American academic peerage; come to honor 
our chief! At last even such a loafer in the 
college as Bridden, who was in danger of losing 
his degree by reason of his overindulgence in 
pool: even he expressed a pride and interest 
in the coming of the scholars: the scholars far 
excellence. 

Even down to so technical a consideration as 
the language of hoods, the undergraduates 
manifested fully as much interest as they had 
been wont to give to baseball batters' averages. 
Garvin's paper came out with a color list by 
which the college presidents, university chan- 
cellors, international statesmen, state officials, 
seminary heads and the host of lesser academics 
could be fully interpreted through the colors 
on the gowns they would wear in the pro- 
cession: white signifying arts and letters, scar- 
let theology, purple for philosophy, blue for 
science, brown for music and so on through the 
list, which Garvin editorially advised each 
student to either cut out and have in his hand 
when the procession moved, or, better still, to 
carefully memorize it. 

The dignity of the impending, classic, stately 
event; the sorting of gowns, the whispers 
and queries concerning what world famous 
shoulders were to receive the highest degrees: 
all this sobered the students and stimulated 

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imaginations, days before the actual event 
transpired. To me it promised to be the oppor- 
tunity to see, face to face, the men of culture 
and administrative power whose names were 
familiar in the far corners of the country: men 
who not only figured as authors, administrators, 
lecturers, scientists, travelers, and moral leaders, 
but, among them, potential Presidents of the 
nation, honored citizens of public reputation, 
men whose names were already merged with 
civic movements, patriotic events, and national 
political advances. It meant that history, suc- 
cessful ambition, leadership, and *moral fibre 
were to be personified for me in their highest 
types. 

The morning of the inauguration brought 
with it a great excitement. The Seniors were 
to wear gowns that morning for the first time. 
On leaving the house, after breakfast, and tak- 
ing my position near the Senior Fence, to wait 
for the formation of the line, a sunburst of 
silken scarlet gown dazzled my eyes, as a sedate 
man of sixty, with a white beard, hurried along 
the path, his head topped by a black velvet 
bonnet. He was followed by others, in the 
silken glares of Oxford and Cambridge, and 
a continual procession of black-draped figures 
whose multi-colored hoods were like lurid gashes 
cut in the mourning by a deftly wielded blade. 

By nine o'clock the campus was astir with 
visitors, faculty, alumni, undergraduates, the 

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band and the sight-seers. Ellis marshalled us 
into a double line, so that to the beholder, in 
our black gowns and black caps, we resembled 
a very mournful, if dignified, procession of up- 
right ravens. 

Then the band blared forth a martial thunder- 
clap which pulled our feet into time. Slowly, 
led by the musicians, we filed on our way around 
the outer edge of the campus, dragging after us 
the faculty and distinguished visitors whose 
chief distinction in the procession lay in their 
inability or unwillingness to keep to the step we 
fixed. Our two hundred and odd pairs of hands 
swished against the sides of our flapping gowns 
in rhythmic evenness. Not even the precision 
of a Black Watch drill could have been finer 
rendered than was our Senior march. The 
heads and bodies swept from side to side like 
the orderly attack of a straight, long wave 
beating backwards and forwards against a cliff. 
Then, at Assembly Hall, our double line divided 
and we stood with heads uncovered: a lane of 
honor, while the recipients of honors, the visit- 
ing presidents, the faculty and the alumni 
threaded their way between our lines into the 
hall. 

Deeper and deeper into f ormalism we plunged : 
all the traditions of scholarship were called up: 
all the esthetic possibilities of academic show 
and etiquette passed in review before us, cap 
tipping, hood placing, and the summing up of 

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the achievements of a lifetime in two sentences 
as an honorary degree was bestowed. The 
trappings and medievalism of scholarship added 
a new dignity to the college atmosphere. The 
very air we breathed was musty with the 
scholar's tradition. 

The only modernness in the event came in 
the moments of handclapping, as addresses, 
investiture and degrees followed one another. 
The undergraduate chorus, massed in the rear 
of the enormous carpeted platform, added to the 
impressive solemnity of the exercises by its 
sonorous harmonies. Then came lie event of 
the occasion, and Ellis, knight of valor and 
skill on the football field, was the central figure 
in the event. He had been assigned the address 
representing the undergraduates. He stalked 
his way to the platform and stood before us, 
backed by the massed greatness of America's 
university world. But he paid no heed to that, 
as he had not been wont to pay much heed to 
the thousands of on-lookers who admired his 
skill in the games. He took fire, and was the 
first to disturb the quiet soberness of the pro- 
gram by putting vivid gesture and loud, vibrant 
voice into play. The effect on the visitors and 
the undergraduates was electrical. Each one 
bent forward as, in no stately rhetoric or formal 
phrase, Ellis opened his heart which, at the 
moment, comprehended the loyalty of all the 
student body. As he concluded, the students 

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THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

stood in a mass, and after the prolonged ap- 
plause — the finest applause of the event — 
our cheer leader dragged a husky, but thrilling 
college cheer from our throats, while Ellis 
modestly found his place in our midst. As we 
filed out into the light of the noon sun, and 
could easily discover the towering, broad 
shoulders of Ellis, our leader, at the head of the 
line, I thought of the honor he had brought to 
the college in his four years' presence in it, and 
saw in him the union of all that is best in Ameri- 
can college life and those qualities which the 
college aims to invest in every willing student's 
life: loyalty to one's fellows, physical fitness, 
moral alertness, humility in success, and a 
respect for the law that governs men and nations. 



[378] 



Chapter XXXIX. The Lost 
Parrot. Academic Burlesque. "The 
Nervousness of the Final Minute. 
A Religious Outcropping in a Non- 
Pious Heart. 



SINCE the establishment of my family in 
the college precincts, I had seen very 
little, in a social way, of my old friend 
Sanderson. I determined to pay him a 
visit one evening, and took with me a 
glass of grape jelly and some hermit cookies, as 
a remembrance from my wife. 

I found him before a heap of blue papers on 
which were lead pencil scribbles. A look of 
anxiety was on his face. When he saw me, 
however, he smiled his pleasure, went over to 
the hat rack and put on his fez. 

"How are you getting along, Sanderson?" I 
asked. 

"Say," he pleaded, "you couldn't just run 
over these reports of mine on your typewriter, 
could you, Priddy. I'm back about a dozen, 

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and must have them in to get passing marks. 
It would be such a help!" 

"Unfortunately, what with sermons, two 
prize essays on which I am working, and my 
own studies, Sanderson, I haven't a spare 
minute !" 

"Then I'll have to root out some freshman 
and give him the job, though a freshman's so 
uninformed! Why, I asked one of 'em to just 
scribble a two-page description of Jane Austen's 
'Pride and Prejudice' and it took the idiot most 
a week to do it, and I don't think it can be hard 
reading, from what the Prof, said about it. 
Now if I'd had time, I could have read it in a 
night!" 

"Same old Sanderson," I muttered. "I don't 
know how you'd get through without help!" 

"Well," he retorted, "since you brought your 
wife and boy to town, you've done mighty little 
for me, eh?" 

"Oh, you'll take care of yourself," I replied. 

"Well," he winked, "I have been lucky, 
lately. Jimmy's stuck by me!" 

"Who's your latest benefactor, c Jimmy?'" 
I enquired. 

"He's a medic, who rooms across the campus. 
The nicest man you ever met: patient — oh, so 
patient, and motherly — oh, so motherly!" 

"Motherly?" 

"Yes, can sew patches on, and buttons, like a 
real endowed maiden aunt, and when I'm out 

[380] 



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of sorts he reads to me, and when I prick my 
thumb he brings over a medicine case and drops 
peroxide on. I sprained my wrist at hand-ball, 
and Jimmy soaked and painted it with stuff, 
and made a firm leather brace for it. Oh, you 
wait till he blows in on the medical profession, 
he'll fit in it as no man, before him, ever fitted 
in it. He looks after me like a regular private 
physician, if I'll only let him come in and study 
with me. You see, his own room's always so 
full that he wants to get away." 

Sanderson smiled significantly at me. 

"Filled with a lot more soft-soapers like you, 
eh?" I laughed. 

"Well, willing good-nature like Jimmy's is 
liable to be imposed on," he agreed. "He comes 
to my room for protection. I tell you, my 
lessons have picked up wonderfully since he 
came." 

"Will he be in tonight?" I asked. 

"He sure will!" said Sanderson. "If he 
doesn't I don't know how I'll get along with my 
biology quiz in the morning. I was saving it 
for him!" 

'You fraud! He has his own work to do!" 

"Don't scold, please," replied Sanderson. 
"He gets through his work all right. He'd 
starve if he couldn't be a benefactor to some- 
body. He will come in tonight. We'll have a 
few minutes' chat. Then he'll ask me about 
the quiz and he'll let go at me for an hour or 

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so. Then we'll have another chat and it will 
be my bedtime, for I never plan to be out of 
bed after half-past ten except on exceptional 
occasions. I'll leave my bedroom door open 
while I get ready. Jimmy'll talk to me until 
I let out a snore, — I'll tell him to be sure and 
snap the lock after he leaves. Perhaps an hour 
later he'll creep out, and go to his own room. 
Oh, I swear by Jimmy!" 

"And get your marks by him, too, eh?" 
"What's a fellow to do?" asked Sanderson. 
As I turned to go, Sanderson yawned, 
"Say, Priddy, could you run in with that 
print on Holbein's 'Saint Barbara?' I failed 
to get it, and we have to recite on it, in the 
morning. You might bring me the dope on it, 
too!" 

I entered at last upon the final stretch towards 
my degree. In the stress of work and the ex- 
citement of writing a philosophical and a literary 
essay, in competition for two senior prizes, the 
days of winter changed into the brighter aspects 
of spring almost before I was aware of it. Once 
more we assembled on the campus for the class 
"sing," and this time my wife could enjoy the 
music with me, as we stood on the corner and 
let our year-old boy ask, "What?" when the 
cheers began. 

The class elections were held, the photograph 
of the class was taken, backgrounded against a 
most rustic wall of stone and arrangement of 

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wild shrubbery. Our caps and gowns soon 
followed the class pictures, and then we wore 
them to chapel, in which we marched so slowly 
and solemnly under the guide of our marshal, 
that more than one irrepressible spirit in the 
ranks would burst out with laughter at so much 
dignity in so youthful a crowd. Through these 
days I often grew impatient. I was eager, now, 
with restored health, and with a richer mine of 
truth, to be in a parish again, doing my chosen 
work. 

But when commencement week arrived with 
its sentimental spirit, — then I felt % the full 
significance of this last educational experience. 

A band, brought from the city, gave con- 
certs on the college club porch, amid a forest 
of plants and shrubs, and under fairylike 
illuminations. Class reunions brought crowds 
of graduates, who donned yellow hats, wore 
clownish clothes, and paraded up and down 
seeing how much burlesque they could express. 
One class engaged an Italian hand-organ artist 
who had also, perched on his music-box, an intel- 
ligent parrot which would pick out fortune slips 
from a box — for five cents. In some way the 
class lost the parrot, and I came across the 
Italian boy, crying bitterly, as he searched a 
wild gully for the bird, saying, when I asked him 
what the trouble could be, 

"Ah, my parrote, he los\ my God, what I do 
for live now!" 

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Meanwhile the renters of the organ sat in an 
automobile and raced back and forth down the 
main street while it scattered its wheezy music 
along the trail of gasolene fumes. 

On one corner, a group of distinguished-look- 
ing men and women stood in the dry gutter, 
with slips of paper in their hands, singing with 
more or less effect, and great seriousness, 

"Oh, the class of 'Eighty odd, 
It is a glorious band, 
It scatters wisdom, grace and power, 
Throughout this mighty land ! " 

Over on the opposite side of the campus a 
crowd of lawyers, bankers, ministers, and busi- 
ness men, who would shock their neighbors at 
home if they had a shoe-lace untied, paraded in 
purple wrappers and sun-bonnets topped with 
paper roses. 

Then the morning of graduation arrived. 
The mock wrappings were put aside by the 
visitors, who appeared in frock coats and sedate 
manners. By nine o'clock I joined my class- 
mates at the fence and found my place in the 
line. Meanwhile crowds of people in holiday 
dress thronged the campus once again, mem- 
bers of the faculty with gowns fluttering in the 
wind, and with scarlet, purple, yellow, and white 
hoods, gathered at the administration building. 

As at the Inauguration the band once more 
took its place at our head, struck up its 
vibrant tune, and then at the dropping of 

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the marshal's baton we took the step and 
marched around the campus, a black, rhythmical 
procession of academics. The gay -hooded, but 
sedate faculty followed, to march through the 
double line of honor we formed at the entrance 
to the hall. Then we entered and stood at our 
seats until the marshal's baton gave us the 
signal to be seated. 

The deep platform before us was ranged with 
the faculty, the trustees, the recipients of hon- 
orary degrees, and the musicians, including a 
robed choir of students and the musical director. 

But my eyes fell on the table at the head of 
the centre aisle on which lay a thick, flat heap 
of sheepskins; mine among them. 

Nervously I picked up the program, and, as I 
looked it through, to see the catalogue cf my 
academic career, it told to all who searched it 
through that Albert Priddy graduated cum 
laude, and that he had won four first prizes : two 
in his junior year and two in his senior year: 
two essays, a story, and a research in philosophy. 

The addresses, the salutatory, valedictory, and 
the greeting by the faculty were given. The 
choir sang an impressive anthem. The honor- 
ary degrees were conferred with great solemnity. 
The classmate next to me said: 

"Priddy, my heart is beating so fast that if 
we don't get our degrees soon, it will burst. 
Just think if anything should prevent our getting 
them — now!" 

[ 385 ] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"Don't mention it," I suggested, in nervous 
agitation, "please." 

Finally, however, the dean came down from 
the platform and we stood. Then we began a 
very slow walk around the side aisles, down past 
the platform to pass before the dean and receive 
our degrees. Slowly, ever too slowly, I drew 
near, and then, a whispered "Priddy" from the 
Dean and the sheepskin was in my hand. 

Immediately I changed the position of the 
tassel of my cap for I had, that moment, of- 
ficially shifted myself from the undergraduate 
role of the college and entered the long, his- 
toric ranks of the alumni." 

When I got back to my seat, my neighbor, 
who had expressed the fear that something would 
occur, whispered with relief: 

"I'm not a religious fellow, Priddy, but I do 
feel like singing the doxology, now that I've 
got this!" He pointed to his diploma. 



[386] 



Chapter XL. In which the 
Account Comes to a Conclusion in 
the Life of a Relative. Martin 
Quotes Spanish and Has the 
Last TVord. % 

A FTER we had been established in a 

/ % parish for some time, I suggested to 

j "% my wife that probably the best 

/ ^Christmas present I could give my 

Uncle Stanwood and Aunt Millie 

would be to make them a personal visit after 

all my years of absence and recite to them all 

the facts of my education, my marriage, and 

describe to them the two interesting members of 

my family. 

So I arrived at Uncle Stanwood's house the 
week before Christmas with the intention of 
spending a week with him. I had been asked 
to preach the Christmas sermon by Mr. Wood- 
ward, the minister, who had started me off to 
the seminary. 

My uncle was still living in a mill tenement. 

[387] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"So you've got an education after all!" he com- 
mented, putting a loving hand on my shoulder. 
"Education has made a difference in you alto- 
gether. You are much different. Sit down and 
tell me all about it." 

As for my Aunt Millie, she said, "What did 
you marry an American for? Can she cook?" 

Just then the door opened and in slouched 
the tallest man I ever saw; slouched past us 
without a word and threw himself moodily into 
a chair at the end of the supper table. His face 
had been carved — roughly carved — out of 
mahogany; it was gaunt, sun-beaten and lined 
with fret marks. He laid big, scarred hands on 
his plate. His shoulders drooped and yet were 
massive in strength. His eyes were like distant 
lights well back under the shadow of his bulging 
brows. A look of disgust seemed to have 
lingered on his thin, curled lips since his birth. 

He was my cousin Martin who had arrived 
from England two years before. 

When he rose up to reach out one of his great 
hands to me, there was a curious, unaccountable 
antagonism in his tone when he said, "Oh, 
this's him, eh? He's the lucky dog, is he?" 

During the recital of my educational experi- 
ences which followed, I noticed that my most 
interested listener was Martin. When I came 
to those parts which had to do with self-support, 
he was alert in every muscle. His eyes blazed 
at me, devouring every word that I said. 

[388] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

When aunt and uncle left us alone, Martin 
said: "Priddy, do you think the world's treated 
me — oh, right, just right?" 

"What do you mean, Martin?" I asked. 
'You've got fight in your tone. What's 
wrong?" 

"Did you never ask that, too?" he retorted, 
hotly. "Did you ever kick against the goad? 
I think you did, once. Don't forget it, Priddy, 
ever! You're not the only chap that ever 
wanted to get ahead, don't lose sight of that. If 
it comes to matching ambition, I've got enough 
and to spare. Here you are, not milch over 
twenty, I take it, yet you've got polished by 
seven years of schooling. Seven years of it! 
Have you any more right to it than me? Here 
I am nearly thirty and what am I? Blest if 
I'm anything but a hod carrier! What have I 
ever been, Priddy? Did I ever have a chance? 
I went into the mill at eight and have been there 
till this winter set in. God knows it's little I 
know in the way of schooling! I can write my 
name and read some; but I got it myself. You 
know what the mill can be to an ambitious 
chap. You never felt it pressing down and 
stifling you more than I did. I tell you that." 
He actually spit on his hands and rubbed them, 
as if on the verge of striking me. 

"The beginning of this winter I said I wouldn't 
stand it no longer, and I won't! No mill will 
get me again; not if I have to starve. I nearly 

[389] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

have starved, this winter, trying to keep out. 
I've peddled shoes, run a baker's cart, been 
janitor of a club-room and now I'm carrying 
bricks! Maybe you don't think it's hard! I 
wish you had it to go through. Perhaps you 
have, only your hands arn't spoiled like mine 
with the frost. Even my feet are lame, this 
very minute, through frost. I'm earning a 
dollar seventy-five a day: good pay, but I 
shouldn't last more than a few years at it and 

then . Besides, I want to get married. 

She's waiting. I've just got fifty dollars in the 
bank. Do you wonder I feel so?" 

On Christmas Sunday a blackboard in front 
of the church announced that the "Rev. Albert 
Priddy, formerly of this church, will preach 
in the morning and evening. Everybody 
Welcome!" 

My uncle took me aside, in the morning, and 
said: 

"I'm coming out to hear you, Al. Do your 
best, lad. I'll be with you. God knows I 
don't deserve all this!" 

It was a very simply arranged church; plain, 
white-washed walls, and a cheaply carpeted 
platform. While the first hymn was being 
sung, my Uncle Stanwood crept into a rear 
pew and kept his eyes down. 

But while I preached, a half smile of pride 
stole into his face and to my excited imagination 
his head seemed to be nodding approval to all 

[390] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

I said. The look in his eyes seemed to be 
saying, "Show them, Al!" 

I whispered to the minister, "Let me pro- 
nounce the benediction and while we are singing 
the last hymn, get down the aisle and meet my 
uncle. He may get out before you. He's 
timid." 

But Uncle Stanwood crept out before the 
benediction and I did not see him again until 
my arrival home for dinner. 

On arriving home, I was startled by what 
Aunt Millie did. She came up to me, patted 
me lovingly on the head and said, %" I'm glad 
you did so well, Al. Your uncle's been telling 
me all about it. I'll go and hear you tonight, 
too." 

Martin evidently was interested, for in that 
belligerent tone of his, though softened by a 
light laugh, he said: 

"I suppose I'll have to go, too, seeing I'm 
his relation!" 

I left the house that evening somewhat early, 
because I had to meet some friends. Martin 
was blacking his shoes; Aunt Millie was 
troubling herself unduly over what she should 
wear: a superfluous question, as she had but 
one Sunday dress and hat. 

On my way to church that night, I could not 
help feeling that I must have misunderstood 
my aunt. I chided myself for not having read 
her aright. I began to realize that there was a 

[391] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

deep under-current to her nature — perhaps 
one of love? 

It was a thought like that that proved my best 
girding for the evening sermon. I sat in the 
pulpit while the church filled; for this evening 
service was always well attended. The choir 
of mill boys and girls, led by a patriarchal man 
whose face and hands were white as fuller's 
earth, sang stirring anthems in which we saw 
the Palestinian shepherds in mute adoration of 
the stable miracle. The congregation sang, with 
great unction, another Christmas theme. 
Martin's head towered at the rear; but I could 
find no trace of Aunt Millie. 

After the service, and the greetings of old- 
time friends, I looked about for Martin and 
Aunt Millie. I saw neither. It was somewhat 
late when I arrived home. Aunt Millie was 
waiting for me with a troubled face. 

"You managed to hide yourself pretty well!" 
I laughed. 

She cried as she confessed: 

"I didn't go, Al. I didn't hear you at all. 
That's the plain truth!" 

"Why, I thought I saw you getting ready 
when I left," I said. 

"Yes, I was; but I didn't hear you preach. 
I couldn't!" 

"Oh," I laughed, "you couldn't? What was 
the matter?" 

"I started out; but on the way I lost heart. 

[392] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

I was afraid that I might cry out in church, 
with you preaching, lad. Besides, I'm not a 
dissenter. I was passing the Episcopal church 
and went in there, instead. I felt more at home. 
You can understand, can't you, lad?" 

Then she asked me to sit on the sofa and tell 
her everything I had spoken of in my sermon; 
not to miss a point, but to give it all. She 
gave my points commendation, remarking every 
now and then while her eyes brimmed with 
tears, "It must have done them good, that!" 

Uncle sat at the lower end of the room, say- 
ing not a word; but listening, carefully. In 
the midst of my report the front door opened, 
and Martin, taking long, determined strides, 
hurried through the room without looking at 
any of us, closed the kitchen door with a bang, 
and left us looking into each other's faces in 
bewilderment. 

"Maybe he's mad at something you said, Al. 
You didn't chance to look his way and talk of 
'coming to God,' did you?" 

I solemnly averred that I had not been so 
evangelical as that. My aunt hurried into the 
kitchen where she lingered for a few moments. 
On her return she said: 

"It's all right, Al. There's nothing wrong. 
He's just impressed by hearing you preach, 
that's all. He said to me, 'If education can do 
that, for a fellow, I want some of it!' 

The next morning a heavy snow was falling. 

[393] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

Martin would have no work. After breakfast 
he asked me if I would go into the parlor and 
have a talk, he wanted to ask me something. I 
readily agreed. 

The former antagonism had gone from his 
voice as he began to speak. His words came 
quietly, curiously, like a child's. 

"Priddy, what can a chap learn to be in 
college?" 

"What do you mean? What does a college 
fit men for?" I asked. 

Martin nodded soberly, his eyes fixed on mine. 

I laughed, "Oh, college will train you for 
almost any profession; that is, the professional 
schools will. You can study to be a doctor, a 
lawyer, a forester, a teacher — oh, anything you 
think of!" 

"What do you think's the best kind of a thing 
for a chap to be?" 

"Why," I replied, in embarrassment, "that 
depends upon the fellow, you know." 

"Well," said Martin, "what kind of a pro- 
fession would you advise a chap like me to 
take, for instance!" 

I smiled, knowing what all this fencing meant. 
"Forestry is a good profession, just now," I 
advised. "It's a new branch to the govern- 
ment and brings in good money. I am sure you 
would like to be a forester." 

"What's his work, especially?" came the 
question. 

[394] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

I explained, as best I knew, the different 
functions of a trained forester, emphasizing, 
" Mind you, Martin, he's paid for what he knows 
and not what he does with his hands. He doesn't 
have to chop down trees and all that sort of 
stuff; but he knows all about saving the forests, 
improving them, doctoring them." 

"How long does it take a man to learn that 
trade?" was the next question. 

"About seven years, including college and 
professional school." 

"It would take a fellow like me that long?" 

"Oh," I admitted, reluctantly, for I felt that 
this would put a stop to any ambition that he 
had, "of course you are not ready for college. 
That would mean at least three years more!" 

Martin mused, 

"Seven and three — ten. I'm twenty-eight 
years old. That would bring it up to thirty- 
eight." 

"Yes," I assented, "but you must remember 
that there are a good many working years left, 
after that!" 

"I'm not thinking about myself; it's Nora. 
We planned to get married by spring. Of course 
I should put it off. I wonder if you'd help me? " 

"Help you — how — what? " 

"Help me to explain to Nora; so she'll wait 
— wait probably that long!" 

" You can count on me to help you in anything, 
Martin." 

[395] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"When she knows it's for her betterment, 
maybe she'll be willing," interjected Martin, as 
if in argument with himself. 

I nodded, vigorously. 

"Anyway," he said with that belligerent tone 
of his, "she'll have to be!" 

Under the inspiration of this conversation, I 
pulled Martin out of the house and took him to 
the public library, where we asked for a bundle 
of preparatory school and college catalogues.' 
These we whispered over and patiently studied 
until noon. We found that, by unusual labor, 
it would be possible for Martin to get his 
preparation, his college degree, and his profes- 
sional training within nine years! As a further 
proof of our optimism, we decided that Martin 
should enter Yale when he was fitted! 

We found from the catalogue of the prepara- 
tory school that Martin had decided upon, that 
the term opened within two days. When I 
advised Martin to write a letter to the principal 
and await a reply, he stormed at me: 

"And probably it would be a week before I 
heard from him. That would put me behind 
the classes — and you would be gone, too. If 
they aren't overcrowded, why, I'll not wait to 
write; but just take my fifty dollars and go. 
They can only say no." 

His decision made, Martin began to show me 
what a decided nature he possessed. He drew 
the fifty dollars out of the bank. He bought 

[396] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

some necessary clothes out of the money. 
The next day he gave notice to the contractor 
that he would carry bricks no more. Then he 
outlined his scheme to uncle and aunt. 

My Aunt Millie stormed. 

"This education business is getting on my 
nerves. First it's one and then another of 
you." Turning on me she said, "Nice way of 
treating us: coming to take a good paying 
boarder from us — and we need the money so, 
too!" 

But Martin interjected, "Look here, I did it 
all myself. Blame me for it!" 

But my aunt would not be consoled. "And 
I'd been planning so for the wedding, too!" 
she exclaimed. 

As I chanced to be going on a trip to the 
Seminary at the time, I told Martin that I 
could be his companion as far as he had to go. 

"But you've got to go to the North End with 
me and help me explain matters to Nora. 
You've got a smoother tongue than I have and 
she'll listen to you." 

So Martin and I started out on our dismal 
mission. Nora lived on the top floor in one of 
the tenements. She was a stout, fair-faced 
woman of twenty-seven with a way of casting 
her head sidewise when she spoke to me, as if 
she had trouble with her sight. She stood gaz- 
ing at us, at that unexpected hour, from behind 
the ironing-board. The odor of burning cloth 

[397] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

reached my nostrils, as she stood wondering. 
She had burnt the shirtwaist and no amount of 
frantic rubbing with soap could take the scar 
out. 

She dismissed us to the parlor while she put 
on a more presentable dress. Martin said not 
a word to me; but he pointed dumbly to his 
photograph in a place of honor on the mantel. 

Nora came into the room exclaiming: 

"Why, Martin, didn't you let me know? 
What's the matter?" 

Martin started to speak; but could not. He 
nodded to me. 

Carefully, painfully, hesitantly, I outlined 
Martin's ambition to Nora. More than that 
I explained the reasonableness of it, the prime 
importance of it to their later fortunes. I tried 
to paint in glowing terms the high station to 
which Nora, through Martin, might be exalted. 
I leaped from point to point with enthusiastic 
eloquence, when the theme had mastered me. 
But when I had concluded, and was looking 
eagerly into the young woman's face for a favor- 
able sign, she gasped, then in a cold voice she 
said: 

"Oh, yes, it's all right for him; but don't I 
know that if he goes to college he'll meet other 
girls, better looking, better dressed, better 
educated than I am, or can ever hope to be. 
Suppose I don't break off this engagement now, 
how am I to know that he'll not forget me, 

[398] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

throw me over. Have you thought of that in 
all your plans?" 

"Martin's a man of his word, I suppose," I 
protested. 

"You'd find me true, Nora," declared Martin. 

"How long do you want me to wait?" de- 
manded the girl. 

"Only about seven or eight years or so!" 
haltingly explained Martin. 

Nora leaped to her feet and stamped the 
floor, angrily, imperatively. 

"You'd keep me waiting seven or eight years; 
waiting that long for you, with* all the risk! 
Not me ! Not for a thousand Martins! " 

That was her answer. We left her without 
more words. We left her watching us, crying. 
Martin commented, when we were outside: 

"Now, if she'd only had more faith in me 
and made me feel certain of victory, maybe 
I'd given the whole thing up; but now — we'll 
go tomorrow, sure!" 

The following evening we sat in the North 
Station in Boston, awaiting the train that would 
carry us on an all-night journey. Every nerve 
Martin possessed quivered with pessimism. He 
scolded, chided, lodged complaints at everything 
and everybody. He tried to give me the im- 
pression that I had made a prisoner of him; 
that he no longer had any initiative of his own. 
As we sat in the waiting-room he held humorous 
monologues the purport of each one being, 

[399] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

"What a fool I am, at my age, to be running 
out among a lot of kids to get ready for college. 
What a fool!" During that hour's wait, he 
had resolved four times to expend that fifty 
dollars in a ticket to the orange groves of 
California. Finally, when he had been brood- 
ing in silence for some moments, with a quick 
action he pulled out his pocket book, handed 
it to me and said, savagely, "Here, take this 
and keep it safe. No matter how I beg or what 
I say, don't let me have it. To make things 
sure, you'd better run and get me my ticket to 
the school; then I'll be sure and not turn back ! " 

As our train started from the station it plunged 
into a heavy, blinding snow-storm that had been 
raging throughout the entire day. Once in our 
seats, Martin recommenced his tirades against 
this "foolishness." But there were propitious 
signs near at hand, for his encouragement. A 
man was coming down the aisle looking for a 
seat in whom I recognized a Seminary comrade 
of mine. He was a stubby fellow of middle age, 
with an ill-kept, drooping moustache. 

"Say, Harlan, old fellow," I greeted, "stop 
right here and meet my cousin." When he was 
seated, I talked with him, and, for Martin's 
benefit, to whom I slyly winked as I talked, 
brought out the fact that Harlan had been 
much older than my cousin when he had started 
out for an education. Nay, he had been handi- 
capped with a wife and a child! Now he 

[400] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

enjoyed the dignity of the ministerial profes- 
sion. The moral was evident to Martin. He 
braced up and became very agreeable, especially 
to my old friend Harlan. 

We talked in low tones until three o'clock in 
the morning, at which time the brakeman called 
out the station where I should leave Martin to 
his fortunes. The poor fellow seemed on the 
verge of tears as he gripped his suit-case and 
followed me to the door as the train slacked up 
its speed. I looked off from the platform. The 
storm had not abated. I could see only a great 
snowdrift where the station platform should 
have been. A street light flickered weakly out 

on the street. 

As Martin dropped up to his knees in the 
snowdrift and reached for his suit-case I 
whispered: 

"Find a hotel, and let me hear from you, old 
fellow. Keep up your courage. If there's any- 
thing I can do, call on me!" Harlan waved his 
hand and called, " Never too late to mend!" 
an aphorism which might have been pertinent 
to the occasion, and then the brakeman's 
lantern swung. As the train lumbered through 
the drifts, I saw Martin bend his head to the 
storm, lift his suit-case above the drifts, and 
go plodding towards the street light. The 
station was deserted, and I hoped that my 
cousin would find someone to direct him before 
the storm discouraged him. 

[401] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

A few months later, I stopped off at the town 
where I had left my cousin. He met me at the 
train, the same serious man I had left, though 
with a trace of a smile on his face and more of 
content in his speech than before. He guided 
me past a grocery store and said : 

"I get up at four in the morning, do my study- 
ing, then before classes I go out and take orders 
for that firm." 

He led me down a placid street, through the 
shovelled paths of snow, and after opening the 
front door led me into a well-warmed and very 
nicely furnished chamber. 

"I do their chores and earn the rent for this 
room," he announced, with a grim smile. "Fur- 
nace to look after, paths to shovel, and baby to 
keep happy, if it wakens when they want to go 
to an entertainment." 

At supper time he led me into the heart of 
the town into an eating-house. He had a 
meal ticket punched by the waitress. 

"This ticket costs three dollars," he said, 
"enough to last a week at three meals a day. I 
make it last three weeks by scrimping and having 
a bottle of milk a day in my room." 

"How do you like the school?" I asked, 
pleased with these evidences of his thrift. 

"Well," he mused, "they are a lot of kids, to 
be sure, and I'm quite a freak among them. 
'Grandad' Martin they call me. I suppose 
they've never had so old a man in their classes 

[402] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

before. Anyhow, that's the way you would 
argue from their looks and talk. But it doesn't 
bother me — much. I guess we'll all get used 
to it, by and by." 

"How is Nora getting along?" I ventured to 
enquire. 

"Married!" he snarled, and talked no more 
about that. 

"What do you think about this opportunity, 
Martin?" 

"Wouldn't have missed it for fifty weddings!" 
he declared. 

Throughout the year I received word from 
him, couched in various tempers of letters. 
Sometimes he was about to throw the whole 
ambition over, because as he wrote, his mind 
was not as fresh as it might be. Then he would 
write that the boys wanted him to become a 
member of the basket-ball team, but he had 
refused, because, he argued, so old a man, and 
so tall a one, would not do in playing against six- 
teen and eighteen-year-olds! In spring, he had 
trouble with his French. Then a complica- 
tion of physical troubles cropped out, as if to 
test his patience. Finally, after being confined 
to his bed by illness, and having had to forego 
the final examinations, he decided that he was 
too old to keep at it, and that he had too many 
handicaps. He went to the West, thus keeping 
to his old intention, and after he had secured 
the position as "boss" of a large gang of men, 

[403] 



THROUGH THE SCHOOL 

on construction work, a "shirt-sleeved, and 
white collar job" as he termed it, he wrote to 
me the following letter. 

"My dear Cousin: 

Don't feel at all that you did me a bad turn 
by having me go to that school for a year. It 
was the most profitable investment I have ever 
made ! I find that out more and more each day. 
It has released me, perhaps forever, from that 
miserable hand drudgery I always hated, for in 
that single year's contact with polite speech, with 
teachers, and with the finer opportunities of life, 
I was given more confidence in myself and my 
opportunities. I am not afraid to approach 
educated people any more. I hold my head up 
higher; I feel myself more of a man. I can 
even write at the end of my letter, something 
impossible before, 'Remunda de pasturaje hace 
becerros gordos, 9 which is a Spanish proverb out 
here for, ' Change of pasture makes fat calves ! ' 
God bless our schools!" 



The ErtD 



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